
aassr pr\^^3 3-,- 



X 



Women of the Go^spels: 

The Three Wakings, 



AND OTHER 



I' ( ) E M S 



BY THE AUTHOR OF 

THE SCHONBEEG-COTTA FAMILY.^ 



NEW YOEK : 

PUBLISHED DY M. W. 1)<»DI), 
No. 506 BROADWAY. 

. 1867. 



CAKD FEOM THE AUTHOR. 



"The Author of 'The Schonberg-Cotta FamHy' 
wishes it to be generally known among the readers 
of her books in America, that the American 
Editions, issued by Mr. M. W. Dodd, of New 
York, alone have the Author's sanction." 



NOTE BY THE PUBLISHEB. 



The volume of Poems here offered to the 
public has been arranged by the Author ex- 
pressly for publication in this country. 

In addition to what has previously appeared 
under the title of " The Three Wakings," this 
volume contains Poems furnished to us in man- 
uscript especially for it, and many others not 
before published hi America. 



CONTENTS. 



IiH'EODUCTioN— To omi Amertcak Cousins, 9 

PART I. 

Jlf)e 31iol7)eii of ll}e Soapels. 

MnrisTEY, 15 

Mahy the Mother of our Lord — 

1. Age after age has call'd thee bless'd, 18 

2. Not for thyself thy motherhood, 20 

3. The strongest light casts deepest shade, 22 

4 ThoTi shalt be crown'd, O mother blest, 24 

Mart Magdalene — 

1. Her home lay by that inland sea, 26 

2. No phantoms thus her soul assail'd, 28 

3. He suffer'd her with Him to stay, 31 

4. The Sabbath that could bring no rest, 35 

5. " My Lord," though dead, yet still " my Lord," . 37 

6. A moment since, a sepulchre, 39 

7. Tell all the world the Lord is risen, 41 

Salome — 

She knew not what for them she sought, 48 

The Widow of Nain — 

Thy miracles are no state splendors, 45 



VI CONTENTS. 

The STROPHEIJriCIAK — page 

Content, sb.e takes the lowest place, 48 

The Sisteks op Bethaistt — 

1. What hope lit up those sisters' gloom, 49 

2. Mary, the onlj glory sweet, 52 

8. What joy to live beneath the eyes, 53 

The Unnamed Women — 

1. The hand that might have drawn aside, 56 

2. She bathed His feet with many a tear, 58 

3. " He turned to Her." All eyes beside, 60 

4. He prized her love, He held it dear, 62 

5. Forgiveness may then yet be mine, 64 

6. He clothes thy soul in spotless dress, 6Q 

The Two Alabaster Boxes — 

1. When Thou, in patient ministry, 68 

2. Love is the true economist, 70 



PART II. 

The Three Wakings, 73 

The Golden Age in the Present, 96 

The Poet's Food, 102 

A True Dream, 107 

The Alpine Gentian, 110 

The Forget-me-not, 113 

To a Redbreast 118 



CONTENTS. VU 

PAUK 

Caisticum Solis, 123 

Nature no Selp-actikg Instkument, 137 

Oisr THE Gbaye op a Faithful Dog, 138 

A Journey on the South-Devon Railway, 131 

The Thbee Trances, 135 

On the Death op the Prince Consort. . , 149 



PART III. 



ifyinr); 



'3, &e. 



The Way, The Truth, and the Life, 159 

The Pathways op the Holy Land, 163 

Veiled Angels, 165 

The Word op Life, 168 

Not Grudgingly, or op Necessity, 171 

Durable Riches, . . . 173 

The Cruse that Faileth Not, 175 

Only that the Sun is Coming, 178 

The Fold and the Palace, 181 

The Two Reproaches, 185 

Suggested by the Prometheus Bound 187 

Eureka, 189 

The Gospel in the Lord's Supper, 191 

On a Baptism, 194 

New Year's Hymn, 196 



VUl CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Sunday Evening Hymn, 198 

Early Rising Hymn, 301 

Sowing in Tears, 204 

The Well at Sychar, 306 

Song for an Infant School, 208 

All Live unto Him, 311 

Waiting, 313 

A Sick Child's Dream of Heaven, 315 

To One at Rest, 219 

"He Saved Others," 333 

Marah and Elim, 325 

" Come and See," 229 

" My Strength and my Heart Faileth,", 233 

Rest for the Heavy Laden, 334 

" It is I ; BE NOT Afraid," 339 

God is Love, 341 

" SmiMER IN THE SouL," , 343 

The Cross, 346 

The Child on the Judgment Seat, 348 

Talitha Cumi, 353 

Gethsemane, 359 

The Two Accusations, 363 

How DOTH Death speak of our Beloved? 365 

In Memory of the Rev. J. D. Burns, 370 

It is no Dream, 374 



INTRODUCTION. 



TO OUR AMERICAN COUSINS. 

One people in our early prime, 

One in our stormy youth ; 
Drinking one stream of human thought. 

One spring of heavenly truth ; 

One language at our mother's knee, 
One in our Saviour's prayer, — 

One glorious heritage is ours ; 
One future let us share. 

The heroes of our days of old 

Are yours, not ours alone ; 
Your Christian heroes of to-day 

We love them as our own. 



10 TO OUR AMERICAN COUSINS. 

There are too manj homeless lands, 
Far in the wild free West, 

To be subdued for God and man, 
Replenished and possest ; — 

There are too many fallen men. 
Far in the ancient East, 

To be won back to truth and God. 
From cramping bonds released ;— 

There is too much good work to do, 
And wrong to be undone ; 

Too many strongholds from the foe 
Yet must be forced and won ; — 

That we whom God hath set to be 
The vanguard of the fight, 

To bear the standard of his truth. 
And to defend the right, 



TO OUR AMERICAN COUSINvS. 11 

Should leave the mission of our race, 

So high, and wide, and great. 
On petty points of precedence, 

To wrangle and debate ; — 

That blustering words of little men, 

(With poisonous venom rife,) 
Who must be angrj to be heard, 

Should stir us up to strife. 

Naj 1 side by side in East and West, 

In wild or heathen lands, 
One prayer upon our hearts and lips, 

One Bible in our hands. 

One in our earliest home on earth, 

One in our heavenly home, 
We'll fight the battles of our King, 

Until his kingdom come. 
London, Marcz, 1862. 



PART I. 

THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. 



WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. 
MINISTRY. 

• The Son of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister." 

Since service in the highest lot, 
And all are in one Body bound, 

In all the world the place is not 

Which may not with this bliss be crown' d. 

The sufferer on the bed of pain 
Need not be laid aside from this, 

But for each kindness gives again 
''■ This joy of doing kindnesses." 

The poorest may enrich this feast ; 

Not one lives only to receive. 
But renders through the hands of Christ 

Richer returns than man can give. 



y 



18 THE WOMEN OP THE GOSPELS. 

The.^Jittle child in trustful glee, 

With love and gladness brimming o'er. 

Manj a cup of ministry 

May for the weary veteran pour. 

The lonely glory of a throne 
May yet this lowly joy preserve, 

Love may make that a stepping stone, 
And raise "I reign" into ^'I serve." 

This, by the ministries of prayer, 

The loneliest life with blessings crowds. 

Can consecrate, each petty care. 
Make angels' ladders out of clouds. 

ISTor serve we only when we gird 
Our hearts for special ministry ; 

That creature best has minister' d 
Which is what it was meant to be. 



MINISTRY. 17 

Birds by being glad their Maker bless, 
By simply shining sun and star ; 

And we, whose law is love, serve less 
By what we do than what we are. 

Since service is the highest lot, 
And angels know no higher bliss, 

Then with what good her cup is fraught 
Who was created but for this 1 



18 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. 

I. 

MAEY THE MOTHER OF JESUS 

" All generations shall call me blessed.-' 

Age after age has called thee bless'd, 
Yet none hath fathom'd all thy bliss ; 

Mothers, who read the secret best, 
Or angelSj — ^yet its depths must miss. 

To dwell at home with Him for years, 
And prove His filial love thine own • 

In all a mother's tender cares 

To serve thy Saviour in thy Son. 

To see before thee day by day 

That perfect life expand and shine, 

And learn by sight, as angels may. 
All that is holy and Divine ! 



19 



Well may we heap thj blessing up 
From age to age, from land to land. 

Since Christ Himself that brimming cup 
Gives to the lowliest Christian's hand, 

The measure of a blessedness 

Yet by that measure unexpress'd ; 

Sealing the Mother's joy with " Yes," 

The Christian's, with His '-'rather bless' d.^' 



20 THE WOMEN OP THE GOSPELS. 

n. 

THE MARRIAGE AT CANA. 

" Yea, rather blessed are they who hear the word of God and keep it." 

Not for thyself thy motherhood, 

Nor for thy home that life-stream springs ; 

For thee, then, too, the higher good 

Must come through death of lower things. 

The village home so sweet to thee, 
With joys so hallow'd and complete. 

For Him no Father's House could be. 
No limit for thy Saviour's feet. 

The will long meekly bow'd to thine 
Now calmly claims its sovereign place. 

And takes a range of love Divine 
Thy mortal vision cannot trace. 



MARY. 



21 



On us that mild reproof falls cold, 

The wordSj and not the tone, we hear ; 

On thee, who knewest Him of old, 
It casts no shade of doubt or fear. 

For thy meek heart has read Him true, 
And, bowing, wins His '•'■rather bless dP 

^^Whate'er He saith unto you^ do^^^ 
Embracing as its rule and rest. 

Then through earth's ruins heav'n shines bright ; 

The widest sphere, the dearest home, 
Save that where Christ is Lord and Light, 

Were but at last the spirit's tomb. 



Thus, laying down thy special bliss. 
Thou winnest joy, all joy above, 

The endless joy of being His, 

And sharing in His works of love. 



22 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. 

ni. 

THE CROSS. 

" NoTT there Btood by the Cross of Jesus His mother." 

The strongest light casts deepest shade, 
The dearest love makes dreariest loss. 

And she His birth so bless' d had made 
Stood bj Him dying on the cross. 

Yet since not grief but joy shall last, 
The day and not the night abide, 

And all time's shadows, earthward cast, 
Are lights upon the '^ other side ;" 

Through what long bliss that shall not fail, 
That darkest hour shall brighten on ! 

Better than any angel's '' £^a^7/" 
The memory of " Behold thy ^oiiP^ 



MART. 23 

Bless'd in thy lowly heart to store 

The homage paid at Bethlehem, 
But far more blessed evermore 

Thus to have shared the taunts and shame. 

Thus with thy pierced heart to have stood 
'Mid mocking crowds and own'd Him thine. 

True through a world's ingratitude, 
And own'd in death by lips Divine, 



24 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. 

IV. 
THE CROWN. 

Thotj shalt be crown' d, mother blest, 
Our hearts behold thee crown' d e'en now ; 

The crown of motherhood, earth's best, 
O'ershadowing thy maiden brow. 

Thou shalt be crown'd. More fragrant bays 
Than ever poet's brows entwine. 

For thine immortal hymn of praise, 
First Singer of the Church, are thine. 

Thou shalt be crown'd. All earth and heaven 
Thy coronation pomp shall see ; 

The Hand by which thy crown is given 
Shall be no strano;er's hand to thee. 



MART. 25 

Thou shalt be crown'd, but not a queen ; 

A better triumpb ends thj strife : 
Heaven's bridal raiment, white and clean, 

The victor's crown of fadeless life. 

Thou shalt be crown'd, but not alone, 
No lonely pomp shall weigh thee down, 

Crown'd with the myriads round His throne, 
And casting at His feet thj crown. 
3 



26 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. 

MARY MAGDALENE. 
I. 

Her home lay by that inland sea 
Which sacred memories so embalm ; 

That Magdala and Galilee 

Ring like the music of a psalm. 

Deep in the lake the far hills glow, 

Clear shine each peak and golden spire, 

And Ilermon lifts his brow of snow 
Unsullied to that sky of fire. 

From point to point gleam'd cities white, 
Full of the joyous stir of life, 

And o'er the waves boats bounded light ; 
All was with eager movement rife. 



MARY MAGDALENE. 27 

Fresh streams across Gennesaret danced, 
Laughing with corn and countless fruits, 

And met the quiet waves which glanced 
Bathing the oleander roots. 

Yet many a calm recess for prayer 

Those hills enshrined which circling stood, 

Wild steeps which to men's homes brought near 
The sanctity of solitude. 

But vainly, round her and beneath 
Earth pour'd her wealth, as evermore 

Flows Jordan to the Sea of Death, 
And leaves it bitter as before. 



28 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. 



"Out of whom He cast seven deTils." 
II. 

No phantoms thus her soul assail'd, 
It was no vision of the night, 

No dim unreal mist, that veiFd 
The glad reality of light ; 

No discord of sweet strings unstrung 
A skilful touch might tune again, 

No jar of nerves too tightly wrung, 
No shadows of an o'erwrought brain; 

But din of mocking voices rude, 
Spirits whose touches left a stain. 

Owning no shrine of solitude 

Their blasphemies might not profane. 



MARY MAGDALENE. 29 

Real as the earth she, hopeless, trod, 
Real as the heaven they had lost, 

Real as the soul they kept from God, 
From torture still to torture toss'd. 

Thus sleep to her could bring no calm, 
No stillness dwelt for her in night, 

And human love could yield no balm, 
And home no deep and pure delight. 

Till light upon that chaos broke, — 
Not from unconscious azure skies.— 

The morning that her spirit woke 

Beam'd from the depths of human eyes. 

No thunder, with God's vengeance dread, 

Scatter' d that company of hell ; 
It was a Voice from which they fled, 

A Voice they knew before they fell. 



30 THE VfOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. 

Once more she was alone and free, 
And silence all her soul possessed ; 

As the ''great calm" the storm-toss'd sea 
When the same voice commanded rest. 

Such solitude a heaven might make. 
Such silence had for bliss sufficed ; 

What was it. then, from hell to wake, 
And wake beneath the smile of Christ ! 



MARY MAGDALENE. 31 



in. 



* And certain •women which had been healed of evil spirits and infirmities, 
Mary called Magdalene, .... which ministered unto Ilim of their 
substance." 

He suffer'd her with Ilim to stay — 
This crowning joy was not denied — 

To hear His voice from day to day, 
And tread this earth still by His side. 



Where, with a diadem of snow, 

The white-waird cities crown'd the rocks, 
Or peasants' dwellings far below, 

Couch'd round the fountains like their flocks. 

She saw the expressive glance of sight 
The dulness of blind eyes replace ; 

Yv^hen learning first the joy of light, 
For the first sight they saw His face. 



32 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. 

She heard the first clear accents pour 
From dumb lips, uttering His name ; 

She saw men's homes from shore to shoro 
Break into sunshine where He came. 

She saw the long possess'd set free, 
She knew the anguish and the bliss ; 

She saw the baffled Pharisee, 

And felt "Man never spake like this.'" 

She heard reluctant fiends confess 
The Godhead thej had fain denied : 

She saw the little children press 
¥/ith fearless fondness to His side. 

She saw the speechless joy that day 
Light up the widow's face at !N"ain ; 

She never saw one sent away. 

She never heard one plead in vain. 



MARY MAGDALENE. 33 

She saw Him faint and wearied sore, 
And toil those gracious eyes bedim, 

Thirsting and hunger' d, homeless, poor, 
She saw and minister'd to Him. 

She saw BQs brow its light regain. 

And strength reknit each wearied limb. 

All to be spent for man again : — 
A woman's service succor'd Him ! 

And are those days forever o'er ? 

Must earth be of that joy bereft ? — 
The sighs and sounds are here no more, 

And yet the very best is left. 

Still may we follow in His way, 
And tread this earth as by Hjs side, 

May see Him work from day to day. 
As in His presence we abide. 



84 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. 

See Him shed light on darken' cl eyes, 
The bow'd and fetter' d heart set free ; 

May succor, serve, and sacrifice, 

And hear from heaven His •' unto Me.'' 



MART MAGDALENE. 35 



IV. 



"The first day of the -week cometh Mary Magdalene early while it was 
yet dark unto the sepulchre." 



The Sabbath that could bring no rest, 
The wearj day at length had fled : 

What Sabbath could again be blest 

Since He who promised rest was dead ? 

The guilty world was hushed in gloom, 
Night on its sleeping millions lay 

Like the " great stone" upon His tomb — 
What if it never rolled away ! 

But o'er her path there fell a shade 

No darkness from her heart could hide : 

The tomb in which the Lord was laid 
Was near the cross on which He died. 



36 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. 

Beneath that cross she stood again': 
The tortured form no more she saw ; 

His murderers were religious men, 
Nor dropped one letter of the law ; 

His crj of agonj might smite 

Strange discord through their measured prayer, 
And who, when death those lips made white, 

Could silence the reproaches there. 

Thus earth among the spheres moved on, 
And calmly kept her ordered course, 

Bearing the cross of God the Son, 
And in her heart His lifeless corpse. 

Nor yet was blotted out of space, 
Nor yet the brand of Cain doth bear. 

Because, through His surpassing grace. 

That cross pleads not ''■ Avenge," but *' Spare." 



MART MAGDALENE. 37 



V. 

" They have taken away my Lord." 

*' My Lord," though dead, yet still " my Lord :" 

Prophet through love's tenacity. 
Powerless to hope, she yet adored, 

And felt the truth she could not see. 

If He who in Himself had shone 

All that God is, all man may be, 
Living the truth, else guessed by none 

Through years of patient ministry ; 

He from whom life and peace she drew. 

Whom she had followed day by day. 

And worshipp'd more, the more she knew, 

Could fade to cold unconscious clay ; 
4 



38 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. 

If that pure life of perfect love, 

Extinguish' d never more should beam, 

What joj could endless days above 
Bring ever more, not bringing Him ? 

What were those angel-forms to her, 
Their raidiant forms and raiment white, 

If dead within a sepulchre, 

He lay, Himself the Life and Light ? 

Thus when the bridge of faith was rent, 
Which could have firmly spann'd the gulf, 

Love prostrate o'er the chasm leant, 
And bridged the dark abyss herself. 



MAEY MAGDALENE. 



VI. 



" Jesus saith unto her, Mary. She turned herself and saith unto Him 
Kabhoni, which is to say, Master." 



A MOMENT since, a sepulchre 

Was all the world she cared to own, 

An empty tomb, vain balms and mjrrh, 
Tears with no heart to shed them on. 

And now the living Lord was there, 
Immortal, glorious, yet the same ; 

The voice the fiends once fled in fear 
Now spoke the old familiar name. 

No language could that bliss have told^ 
She had no words the joy to greet ; 

She said but " Master !" as of old. 
And rested silent at His feet. 



40 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. 

Yet all heaven's choirs could scarcely twine 
A music more profound and sweet 

Than when, as from His heart to thine, 
Thus '' Marjr !" and '• Raboni !" meet. 



MARY MAGDALENE. 41 

VII. 

" Go quickly and ell His disciples taat Ee is risen." 

Tell all the world the Lord is risen — 

The Easter message, ever new; 
The grave is but a ruin'd prison, — 

Invisible, the Life breaks through. 

Earth cannot long ensepulchre 

In her dark depths the tiniest seed ; 

When life begins to throb and stir. 
The bands of death are weak indeed. 

No clods its upward course deter, 

Calmly it makes its path to day; 

One germ of life is mightier 

Than a whole universe of clay. 
4* 



42 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. 

Yet not one leaf-blade ever stirr'd, 

Bursting earth's wintrj dungeons dim. 

But lived at His creative word, 
Responsive to the life in Him. 

Since, then, the life that He bestows 
Thus triumphs over death and earth ; 

What power of earth or death can close 
The Fountain whence all life has birth? 

And, as the least up-springing grain 
Breathes still the resurrection song. 

That light the victory shall gain, 

That death is weak, and life is strong ; 

So with immortal vigor rife, 

The lowliest life that faith has freed, 
Bears witness still that Christ is life. 

And that the Life is risen indeed. 



SALOME. 



" She saith unto Him, Grant that these my two sons may sit, the one at 
Thy right hand, and the other on the left, in Thy kingdom. But Jesus 
answered. Ye know not what ye a,sk." 



She knew not wliat for them she sought, 
At His right hand and left to sit ; 

How great the glorj, passing thought 
How rough the path that led to it. 

They knew not what of Him thej ask'd, 
But He their deeper sense distill' d ; 

Gently the selfish wish unmask'd. 
But all the prayer of love fulfilVd. 

Pride sought to lift herself on high, 
And heard but of the bitter cup ; 

Love would but to her Lord be nigh, 
And won her measure full, heaped up. 



44 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. 

With vision of His glorj bless' d, 
Stood on the mountain bj His side, 

Lean'd at the supper on His breast, 

Stood close beneath Him when He died. 

One brother shared His cup of woe. 
The second of His martjr-band ; 

One, bj His glory smitten low, 

Rose at the touch of His right hand. 

Thus, when bj earth's cross lights perplex'd. 
We crp.ve the thing that should not be, 

God, reading right our erring text, 

Gives what we would ask, could we see. 



THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 

Thy miracles are no state splendors, 
Whose pomps Thj dailj works excel ; 

The rock which breaks the stream, but renders 
Its constant current audible. 

The power which startles us in thunders 

Works ever silently in light ; 
And mightier than these special wonders, 

The wonders daily in our sight ; 

Rents in the veils Thy works that fold, 
They let the inner light shine through ; 

The rent is new, the light is old, 
Eternal, never ever new. 



46 THE WOMEN OP THE GOSPELS. 

And, therefore, when Thy touch arrests 

The bearers of that bier at Nain, 
Warm on unnumber'd hearts it rests, 

Though yet their dead live not again. 

And Thy compassionate " Weep not !" 
On this our tearful earth once heard, 

For every age with comfort fraught, 
Tells how Thy heart is ever stirr'd. 

Nature repeats the tale each year, 

She feels Thy touch through countless springs. 
And, rising from her wintry bier, 

Throws off her grave-clothes, lives and sings. 

And when Thy touch through eartk shall thrill. 

This bier whereon our race is laid. 
And, for the first time standing still, 

The long procession of the dead 



THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 41 

At Thy " Arise !" shall wake from clay, 
Young, deathless, freed from every stain ; 

When Thy '' Weep not !" shall wipe away 
Tears that shall never come again ; 

When the strong chains of death are burst, 
And lips long dumb begin to speak. 

What name will each then utter first ? — 
What music shall that silence break ? 



THE SYROPHENICIAN. 

" Great is thy fuith." 

Content, she takes the lowest place. 

He knows what strain her faith will bear ; 
Low in the vallejs flows His grace, 

He does but gently lead her there. 

Then in the depths to her He comes, 
And meets her nothing with His all. 

Creation lives upon the crumbs 

Which from that Master's table fall ; 

But thou, faith, not thus art fed ! 

For thee the heavenly homes are built ; 
Thy portion is the children's bread. 

And "jBe it to thee as thou imlt.^^ 



THE SISTEKS OF BETHANY. 

' When He heard, therefore, that he was sick. He abode two days still in 
the same place where He was." 

I. 

What hope lit up those sisters' gloom, 
When first they sent His help to crave, 

So sure that, hearing, He would come, 
And, coming, could not fail to save. 

Counting the distance o'er again, 

Deeming Him near, and yet more near, 

Till hope, on heights, she climb' d in vain, 
Lay frozen to a deathlike fear. 

Watching with twofold strain intent 
The expected steps, the failing breath, 

Till hope and fear, together spent, 
Sank in the common blank of death. 



50 THE WOMEN OP THE GOSPELS. 

" BejoncI this burning waste of hills, 
Bejoncl that awful glittering sea. 

'Mid those blue mountains lingering still. 
Have our faint prayers not reach 'd to Thee? 

" Or are the joys and griefs of earth 
To Thee, whose eyes survey the whole. 

But passing things of little worth. 
That should not deeply stir the soul?" 

His tears ere long shall hush that fear 
For every mourning heart forever ; 

And we. who now His words can hear 
Beyond the hills, beyond the river, 

Know that as true a watch He kept 
On those far heights, as at their side, 

Feeling the tears the sisters wept, 
Marking the hour the brother died. 



THE SISTERS OF BETHANY. 51 

No faintest sigh His heart can miss 
E'en now His feet are on the way 

With richest counter- weight of bliss 
Heap'd up for every hour's delay , 

That nevermore should hope deferr'd 

Make sick the heart which trusts in Him, 

Eut nourish' d by His faithful Word, 
Grow brighter still as sight grows dim. 



52 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. 



' She hath done what she could. Verily I say unto you, "Whereso- 
ever this gospel shall he preached throughout the whole world, this also 
that she hath done shall be spoken of for a memorial of her." 



11. 

Mart, the only glorj sweet 

To any Christian's heart is thine ! 

Hidden beside the Master's feet, 
Lost in that dearer light to shine ; 

Whilst evermore the heart obeys 
The sermon of thj listening looks. 

Learning religion from thy gaze 
Better than from a thousand books. 

Thy silence is His sweetest psalm, 
While from His lips thy name distils, 

And, dropping like thy precious balm, 
Ever His house with fra,o;rance fills. 



THE SISTEES OF BETHANY. 53 



" Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things ; 
but one thing is needful, and Mary hath chosen that good part, which 
shall not be taken away from her." 



III. 

What joy to live beneath the eyes, 

Which look'd the spirit ''through and through/' 
Which penetrated each disguise, 

And AYOuld not let us be untrue ; 

Yet through the thickest veil descried 

The little spring of good below, 
And pierced the icy crust of pride, 

That happy, humble tears might flow ; 

Eending each soft disguise, which spares 

The evil thing by gentle name. — 

For sinners founts of pitying tears, 

But for the sin unquenched flame ; 
5* 



54 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. 

That saw the very spot within 

On which to lay the healing touch ; 

That had no pitj for the sin, 

Because for those who sinn'd so much ; 

That raark'd through Peter's boast his dread, 

Yet, by his curses unperplex'd, 
Look'd through them to the light, and read 

The traces of the earlier text ; 

Beneath the black ^^ I know Him not^^ 

" Thou knowQst I love Thee'^ still could trace^ 

In graven characters inwrought, 

No darkest stains could quite efface ; 

That knew, through all vibrations fix'd, 

The true direction of the will. 
Saw self with Martha's service mix'd, 

And love in Mary's sitting still. 



THE SISTERS OF BETHANY. 

Those eyes still watcli us, not from far, 

Still pitjitig ''look us through and through," 

And through the broken sketch we are. 
Foresee the heavenly likeness true ; 

Through all its soft and silken dress 

The creature of the dust descry, 
Yet 'neath the shapeless chrysalis 

The Psyche moulding for the sky. 



THE UNNAMED WOMEN. 

I. 

The hand tliat might have drawn aside 
The veil, which from unloving sight 

Those shrinking forms avails to hide. 
With tender care has wrapped it tight. 

lie would not have the sullied name 

Once fondly spoken in a home, 
A mark for strangers' righteous blame. 

Branded through every age to come. 

And thus we onlj speak of them 
As those on whom His mercies meet, 

"She whom the Lord would not condemn," 
And '^she who bathed with tears His feet.'' 



THE UNNAMED WOMEN. 57 

Trusted to no evangelist, 

First heard where sins no more defile, 
Read from the Book of Life bj Christ, 

And consecrated by His smile. 



58 THE WOMEN OE THE GOSPELS. 



n. 



" And stood at His feet behind Him weepinsr, and began to wash His feet 
•n'ith tears." 



She bathed his feet T^dth many a tear, 
Feet wearied then for us so oft ; 

She wiped them with her flowing hair, 
Embalmed with reverent touches soft. 

She knew not of the bitter way 
Those sacred feet had jet to tread, 

Nor how the nails would pierce one daj 
Where now her costly balms were shed. 

She read the pity in his eyes, 

To peace transmuting her despair ; 

She could not read what agonies 

Must cloud the heaven she gazed on there. 



THE UNNAMED WOMEN. 59 

He praised her love, her sacrifice, 

But breathed not what His own must be, 

Nor hinted what must be the price 
Which made her pardon flow so free. 

Then if her love and gifts were such, 
Who little knew the depths of His ; 

If then indeed she ^^loved'^ Him ^'- miich^^'' 
How, since she knows Him as He is ? 



60 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. 



in. 

"He turned to the woman." 

^^ He turned to her^ All eyes beside — 
All other ejes of righteous men, — 

Avoided her's with virtuous pride, 
Nor could she meet their gaze ag;iin. 

Nor could she deem their coldness wrong ; 

That virtue of the Pharisee, 
Only in its negations strong. 

Ceasing to freeze might cease to be. 

And human virtues can but be 

As tender flowers a touch might kill, 

Scorch'd if winds breathe too fervently, 
Nipp'd if they chance to blow too chill. 



THE UNNAMED WOMEN. 61 

But His were of another sphere 

That never stain nor change could know, 

No earth-born flowers, however fair, 

But the pure light which made them grow ; 

No ice pure only till it melt, 

But streams most fresh in freest flow ; 

The living love, whose pureness dwelt 
Not in its coldness but its glow. 
6 



62 THE WOMEN^ OF THE GOSPELS. 



IV. 



" She hatli washed my feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of 
her head. This woman, since the time I came in, hath not ceased to 

kiss my feet Hath anointed my feet w^ith ointment 

She loved much." 

He prized her love, He held it dear, 

He felt each ministering touch. 
He mark'd each gift she offered there, 

He cared that she should love him ^'•muchP 



His pity was no careless alms 
The happy to the wretched fling ; 

He prized her love, her tears, her balms. 
Then life was yet a precious thing ; 

Precious the love He held of price, 

Precious each moment which might bring 

Some privilege of sacrifice. 
Some vase to break in offerins. 



THE UNNAMED WOMEN. 63 

And God gives evermore like this, 
Gives bj His measure, not by ours ; 

Bj life means not mere being ^ but bliss, 
Free exercise of joyful powers. 

The freedom with which He makes free 

Is freedom of His home above, 
Not merely liberty to be. 

But liberty to serve and love. 



64 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. 



V. 

" Thy sins are forgiven thee." 

" Forgiveness may then yet be mine. 
The sinless lips have said 'forgiven ;' 

Pardon is then a right Divine, 

And love indeed the law of heaven. 

"But can the sullied snow grow white? 

What spell can seal the memory fast ? 
What has been ever must have been. 

The Almighty cannot change the past. 

" His eyes, though piercing as the light, 

In pity may refuse to see ; 
But what can make my memory white ? 

What veil can hide myself from me?" 



I 



THE UNNAMED WOMEN. 65 

Oh ! raise thy downcast eyes to His, 
And read the blessed secret there ; 

The pardoning love from guilt that frees, 
Bj loving thee shall make thee fair. 

Love's deepest depth of saving woe 

Has yet to be to thee reveal' d ; 
Blood from that tender heart must flow, 

And thus thy bitter streams be heal'd. 

Thy guilt and shame on Him must lie ; 

Then search the past thy guilt to see, 
Instead, this sight shall meet thine eye, — 

Thy Saviour on the cross for thee ! 



66 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. 



KESTORATION. 

" Go in peace." 

He clothes thj soul in spotless dress. 

In bridal raiment white and clean, 
The Spirit's bridal robe of peace. 

Sign of the inward grace unseen. 

The love that sweeps thy spirit o'er, 

Effacing every stain of sin, 
Flows through thy spirit evermore, 

A well of heavenly life within. 

Thus hallow'd names, forgotten long. 

Familiar names which once were thine. 
With all the old attraction strong, 

Embrace thy soul from lips Divine. 



RESTORATION. 67 

Soft from a Father's house above 

Floats down on thee the name of child, 

From love bejond a mother's love 

Which on thy guiltless childhood smiled. 

And when the age its circuit ends, 
And the great marriage day is there. 

And from the heavens a bride descends, 

Thou, clothed in white, the bliss shalt share. 



THE TWO ALABASTER BOXES. 



' A. woman in the city, wliich -was a sinner, brought an alabaster box- of 

ointment, and anointed His feet." 
' Being in Bethany, there came a woman having an alabaster b:>x of 

ointment of spikenard, very precious, and she brake the box, and 

poured it on His head." 



When Thou, in patient ministry. 

Didst pass a stranger through Thj land^ 

Two costly gifts were offered Thee, 
And both were from a woman's hand. 

To Thee who madest all things fair, 

Twice fair and precious things they bring. 

Pure sculptured alabaster clear, 
Perfumes for earth's anointed King. 

Man's hasty lips would both reprove, 
One for the stain of too much sin. 

One for the waste of too much love ! 
Yet both avail'd Thy smile to win. 



THE TWO ALABASTER BOXES. 69 

The saint who listen' d at thy feet, 
The sinner sinners scorn'd to touch, 

Adoring in thj presence meet, 

Both pardon' d and both loving much. 

Thus evermore to all they teach. 

Man's highest stjle is ''' much forgiven," 
And that earth's lowest jet may reach 

The highest ministries of heaven. 

They teach that gifts of costliest price 
From hearts sin beggar' d yet may pour ; 

And that love's costliest sacrifice 
Is worth the love, and nothino; more. 



70 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. 



n. 

Love is the true economist, 

Her weig^its and measures pass in heaven ; 
What others lavish on the feast, 

She to the Lord Himself hath given. 

Love is the true economist, 

She through all else to Him hath sped. 
And unreproved His feet hath kiss'd, 

And spent her ointments on His head. 

Love is the true economist. 

She breaks the box and gives her all ; 
Yet not one precious drop is miss'd, 

Since on His head and feet they fall. 



THE. TWO ALABASTER BOXES. 71 

In all her fervent zeal no haste, 

She at His feet sits glad and calm ; 
In all her lavish gifts no waste, 

The broken vase but frees the balm. 

Love is the truest providence. 

Since beyond time her gold is good, 
Stamped for man's mean ^'- three hundred 'pence^^'^ 
. With Christ's " She hath done what she could,^^ 

Love is the best economist 

In what she sows and what she reaps ; 
She lavishes her ail on Christ, 

And in His all her being steeps. 



PAET II. 
THE THREE WAKINGS. 



Amon^G the ancient Laplanders magic was an hereditary art. 
There were, however, some magicians of a higher character, to 
whom, in three supernatural sicknesses or trances — one in child- 
hood, one in youth, and one in manhood — the spirits themselves 
taught the secrets of the invisible world. These were honored 
by the whole nation as seers. — Mone. Geschichte des -Eeidenthunis. 



ARGUMENT. 

The poet-child plays on the margin of the River of Life. There 
the Pirst Trance overpowers him. He wakens from it to the 
wonderful beauty of the universe. The magic boat bears h:m 
away from the broad stream of life to the regions of fancy. 
There the Second Trance overshadows him. In it he is aroused 
to the sense of duty and the necessity of work. He girds him- 
self for the strife. In the flush of the triumph which succeeds it, 
lie is overcome by the Third Trance. In it are revealed to him 
the grace of God, redemption, and the free service of love. 



THE THREE WAKINGS. 



I. 

Beside the ancient river 

The infant poet play'd, 
The grave old rocks above him 

Laughed at the mirth he made. 

The boat that bore him thither 

Lay idle on the shore, 
His pearly boat that fast could float 

Without or sail or oar. 

The fresh young leaves on the hoar old trees 

Quiver'd and fluttered in glee, 
And the merry rills from the mighty hills 

Shouted as loud as he. 



76 THE THKEE WAKINGS. 

The birds pour'd joyous welcomes, 
For they deemed him one of them ; 

And the snowdrop laugh'd in her quiet joy, 
Till she shook on her delicate stem. 



Broad is that ancient river. 

And its depths no sailor knows , 

It comes from a place no foot can trace, 
'Mid the clouds and the ancient snows 5 

And on its breast is bounding 

Many a gallant bark ; — 
(Do they know that at last o'er a chasm vast 

It leaps into the dark ?) 

But to the child its waters 

Were his playmates glad and sweet, 
Chasing each other merrily 

To bathe his snowy feet ; 



THE THREE WAKINGS. 77 

ThQ starrj hosts above him 

Were the flowers of the sky. 
Too high, perhaps, to gather, 

But too beautiful to die ; 

The world with all its wonders, 

Its heavens and its sea, 
"Was his plaj-room, full of playmates, 

Each one as glad as he. 

But as he laugh'd and gamboU'd 

Strange languor o'er him stole ; 
His eyes grew dim, and faint each limb, 

And dark the sunny soul. 

Till the green earth in pity 
Folded him to her breast, 
And birds and waves and breezes 

Lull'd him to quiet rest. 

7* 



78 THE THREE WAKINGS. 

n. 

Sweet Spring the earth was treading 
When he broke that magic trance, 

Rose from the ground, and gazed around 
With a new and rapturous glance. 

Had the bright earth and heavens 

Expanded as he slept, 
That such a tide of light and joy 

Around his senses swept ? 

Not a leaf nor a wing could quiver — 
Not a breeze the waters moved, 

But it thrill'd through sense and spirit, 
Like the voice of one beloved. 

The sun in his robes of glory 

From his depths of light on high, — 

Each lowly flower from its dewy bower, — 
Beam'd like a loving eye. 



THE THEEE WAKINGS. 79 

He sate at the feet of Nature 

In love and wonder meek ; 
Had he then learn'd to listen, 

Or had she learned to speak ? 

The world was a rojal palace. 

And no stranger guest was he ; 
As the silvery fish in the silvery brook 

Leaps in its wanton glee, — 

As the lark in the air and sunshine 
When the early mists are curFd, — 

His spirit bathed and revell'd 
In the beauty of the world. 

He sought not his joy to utter, 

He was content to see ; 
It was enough to listen — ■ 

It was enough to be f 



80 THE THREE WAKINGS. 

He had rejoiced for ever 

In this Eden to abide, 
But the pearlj boat began to float 

Languidly down the tide. 

He left the ancient river, 
Where the great navies lay, 

And glided up a quiet stream 
From the din and strife away. 

The waves its prow disparted 

Made music as it went, 
Like lyres and lutes and silvery flutes, 

In sweet confusion blent : 

Till they came through a rocky portal 
Roof'd with many a gem, 

(But one of the countless number 
Had graced a diadem.) 



THE THREE WAKINGS. 81 

Into a world of wonders, 

Where reigned nor sun nor moon. 

But a magic light as still as night, 
And warm as the softest noon. 

Onward and onward gliding 

Bj those shores of wondrous things, 

'Mid the murmur of dreamy voices, 
And the waving of unseen wings ; 

Beneath Aladdin's palace, 

Where the gems lay thick as flowers, 
And the languid day trickled away 

Like the fountain 'midst leafy bowers ; 

Amidst the tangled woodland. 

Where, in the chequer'd glade, 
With wild and tuneful laughter, 

The fairy people played ; 



82 THE THREE WAKINGS. 

Beneath the cliffs he glided. 

And the unclouded skj, 
Where the stately Attic temple 

Reared its white shafts on high ; 

And kingly men and women, 
The brave and wise and strong, 

Earth's loftiest and sweetest souls, 
Lived and made life a song ; 

Beneath the Northern forest, 

Where the thunderbolts were made. 

And spirits and gods and mighty men 
Met in the mystic shade. 

And the hero and the poet 
Smiled brotherly on him ; 

But again that languid slumber 
Crept over soul and limb. 



THE THREE WAKINGS. 83 

The weight of a first sorrow 

Lay heavy on his breath, 
And the fair world was shadowed o'er 

With a darkness as of death. 

And he longed for familiar voices 
And the light of the common day, 

And the common air on his fever' d brow, 
And the fields of his childish play. 

Till by a lonely islet 

The vessel moored at last, 
And he slept on the bank, and languidly sank 

'Mid the graves of the great that were past. 

^ ^ .ij^ Jd^ -^ -^ 

TV* -TV -Tf* -7^ -T^ -l^ 

m. 

He woke. The world of faery, 
With its soft and gorgeous light, 

Was dissolved and gone, and he lay alone, 
Beneath the solemn night ; 



84 THE THEEE WAKINGS. 

Beneath the hosts of heaven 

In their grand reality ; 
'Mid the shadowy glooms of many tombs. 

On the shores of a heaving sea. 

A suit of polished armor 

Lay glittering by his side ; 
Breastplate and casque and girdle. 

And a sword of temper tried. 

Furrows of inward conflict 
On his brow were dented deep , 

And he woke to a steadfast purpose 
From the night of that awful sleep : 

For a strange and solemn Visitant 

Beside his couch had been, 
Clad in the old prophetic garb, 

And stern with the prophet's mien. 



THE THREE WAKINGS. 85 

" What dost thou here ?" she murmur' d, 
" What is outshines what seems; 
Earth has no room for idlers ; 
Life has no time for dreams. 

' Seest thou nought of suffering ? 
Knowest thou nought of sin ? 
Hast thou not heard the groans without, 
Or felt the sting within ? 

*' Thy brethren die in prisons, — 
Thy brethren toil in chains ; 
The body is racked by hunger, 
And the heart has sharper pains. 

*' Gray heads 'neath the weight of labor 
Are sinking into the grave, 
And tender hearts are growing hard 
Eor the want of a hand to save. 



; THE THEEE WAKINGS. 

'' Thousands of men, thy brethren, 
Are perishing around ; 
And thou pourest out thy cup of life 
Upon the barren ground. 

" Rise, gird thee for true labor; 
Rise, arm thee for the fight. 
Go forth to earth's old battle-field ; 
Strike boldly for the right ! 

*' Rise, cast thy dreamings from thee ; 
Rise, clothed with vigor new ; 
This fallen earth is no place for mirth • 
Arise, go forth and dof^ 

A thrill of fervent purpose 
Through all his nature ran, 

And from that sleep of visions deep 
The Boy awoke a Man. 



THE THKEE WAKINGS. 87 

He trod with a steadfast aspect 
Through beauty and weal and ill, 

And his ejes were lit and his frame was knit 
Bj the strength of a fixed will. 

And the sun to his strong purpose 

Was but the lamp of life, — 
The abounding earth, in her beaut j and mirth 

But the field of the mortal strife. 

Where the nations lay cold and torpid, 
'Neath ages of wrong and shame ; 

With the patience of love the poet toil'd 
Till life to the stiff limbs came. 

In the thick of the ancient battle, 

Where the strong bear down the weak, 

With the flaming swords of living words, 
He fought for the poor and meek. 



THE THREE WAKINaS. 

Where'er were wrongs to be righted, 
Or sick to be soothed and upheld ; 

Or a generous deed laj hidden ; 
Or a generous purpose quell 'd ; 

Or a noble heart lay sinking, 

For the want of a cheering word ;— 

The music of his earnest voice 
Above the din was heard. 

Till the sneer of scorn was silenced, 
And the tongue of envy hush'd, 

And a tumult of wild, exulting praise 
Throughout the nations rush'd. 

And they hailed him King and Hero, 

And hasted his steps to greet ; 
And they crown'd him with a golden crown, 

And bow'd beneath his feet. 



THE THREE WAKINGS. 

But yet once more the shadow 

Over his soul was thrown, 
And he on the height of his human might 

Lay desolate and lone ; 

Till, in his helpless anguish, 

His spirit turned on high. 
And he called on the God of his childhood 

With a loud and bitter cry. 

" God, they call me Hero, 
And bow the reverent knee, 
But I am not God, nor a godlike man, 
That thus they kneel to me. 

" They call me Lord and Master ; 
They call me just and good ; 
And I cannot stay my failing breath, 
Nor do the things I would. 



) THE THEEE WAKINGS. 

*' They crj on me for succor. 

But in me is no might to save ] 
They hail me as one immortal. 
And I sink into the grave. 

" Thou— only Thou— art Holy ; 

With Thee, with Thee, is might ; 
stay me with Thy love and strengthj 
clothe me with Thy light I" 

IV. 

It was no spell of slumber 

Which came upon him then, 
No fitful gleams of a land of dreams, 

Which burst on his dazzled ken : 

But he stood upon the borders 
Of the land which we see afar, 

When earth's firmest ground dissolves away, 
And men see things as they are. 



THE THREE WAKINGS. 91 

He saw a joung child standing 

In a famine-stricken land, 
Entrusted with a bounteous store, 

The gifts of a gracious hand. 

He saw it scatter its treasures 

In idle and thankless waste ; 
And when from its idlesse startled, 

It gave away the rest. 

And the grateful people hasten' d 

To garland its guilty head, — 
It took the homage as its due, 

Then cried like the rest for bread. 

And stung with shame and anguish, 

He cried, '' It is I ; it is I ; 
Father, forgive, forgive my sin V 

And he cried with a bitter cry. 



92 THE THREE WAKINGS. 

That cry reached the heart of the Father : 
Once more he looked on high, 

And in the depths of heaven, — 
In the calm of the upper sky, — 

He saw 'midst the sea of glory, — 

A glory surpassing bright, 
One crown' d with a Crown of Inheritance, 

Clad in unborrow'd light. 

He saw Him leave the glory, 

And lay aside the crown, 
And to that land of famine, 

Came, touch' d with pity, down ; 

And gird Himself for service. 

And minister to all ; 
No service was for Him too mean. 

No care of love too small. 



THE THREE WAKINGS. 93 

But men paid Him no homage, 
They crown' d Him with no crown ; 

And the dying bed they made for Him 
Was not a bed of down. 



What more then met his vision 
Falls dimly on mortal ears ; 

The angels were mute with wonder, 
And the poet with grateful tears. 

The rebel will was broken, 
The captive heart was free — 

" Lord of all, who servedst all. 
Let me Thy servant be !" 

He woke ; once more he found him 
In the home where he played a child : 

His mother held his feverish hand, 
His sisters wept and smiled. 



94: THE THREE WAKINGS. 

He loved them more than ever, 
With a pure and fervent love ; 

He loved Grod's sun and earth and skies, 
Though his home laj far above. 

His poet's crown lay near him 

Fused to a golden cup ; 
It would carry water for parched lips, 

So he thankfully took it up. 

He went in the strength of dependence, 
To tread where his Master trod, 

To gather and knit together 
The family of God : 

Awhile as a heaven-born stranger 
To pass through this world of sin, 

With a heart diffusing the balm of peace 
From the place of peace within : 



THE THREE WAKINGS. 95 

With a conscience freed from burdens, 

And a heart set free from care, 
To minister to every one 

Always and everywhere. 

No more on the heights of glory 

A lonely man he stood ; 
Around him gathered tenderly 

A lowly brotherhood. 

They spent their lives for others. 
Yet the world knew them not, — 

It had not known their Master, — 
And they sought no higher lot. 

But the angels of heaven knew them, 
And He knew them who died and rose ; 

And the poet knew that the lowest place 
Was that which the Highest chose. 



THE GOLDEN AGE IN THE PRESENT. 

Why sigh we for the times of yore, 

The '' good old times" that come no more ? 

The oldest day was once to-day ; 

Each hour wore in its settled place 

As every day a garb and face 
As those which glide from us away. 

Nature grows never old : 
On every dawning soul she dawns anew, 
And grows and ripens with their growth ; 
Only to spirits which have lost their youth. 
The heart of love and sense sincere and true, 
Her living forms seem cold. 



THE GOLDEN AGE IN THE PRESENT. 97 

Sigh not for ancient days with poetiy rife, 

To poets is the poetic age not fled ; 

Go let the dead inter their dead, 
For to the living there is always lif« 
Nature has still fresh founts of art 
To pour into the artist's heart ; 
To eyes fresh bathed in morning dew, 
The Golden Age shines ever new. 
Do ocean billows foam less gladly now 

Than when the sea-nymphs danced upon the wave ? 
Curl they less proudly 'neath the swift ship's prow, 

Upheaving from the coral cave ? 
Sing they a song less syren sweet, 
At noontide bathing weary feet, 
Languidly smiling, 
Softly beguiling, 

Like lips that faintly move, 

Murmuring words of love ? 

Do forest streams less freshly well, 

Dewing with green the grassy dell, 
9 



98 THE GOLDEN AGE IN THE PRESENT. 

Giving the thirsty flowers to drink, 
Pilling their starrj ejes with joy, 
Shedding cool fragrance on the air, 
Than when the wood-nymphs sported there ? 
Or does the waterfall's robe, silver-pale. 

Wave in the breeze less lightly 
Than when the Naiad's moonlit veil 

Gleam' d through the dark trees brightly? 
Has evening a less golden sheen ? 

Has morning a less rosy glow ? 
Are noon-day's arrowy rays less keen 

Than when Apollo strung the bow ? 
And when at morn in spring 

The sun with kisses wakes the earth, 
And sun-born showers of golden rain 

With floods of melody pour forth — 
Say, are not light and music one again ? 

Sigh not the old heroic ages back. 

The heroes were but brave and earnest men, 



THE GOLDEN AGE IN THE PRESENT. 99 

Do thou but hero-like pursue thj track, 

Striving, not sighing, brings them back again i 
The hero's path is straight, to do and saj 

Grod's words and works in spite of toil and 
shame : 
Labors enough will meet thee in thy waj. 

So thou forsak'st not it to seek for them. 
Canst thou no wrong with courage patient bear, 

Strength to none weaker than thyself impart? 

seek from Him who died the hero's heart, 
And the heroic age for thee is there. 
Sigh not "fbr simple days of old. 

The childlike days of love and trust ; 
There never was an age of gold. 

And faith makes gold of all earth's dust. 
The Church's youthful strength grows never grey, 
Herself a fadeless youth amid the world's decay. 
Canst thou not love ? has earth no room 

For all thy heart would give, 
With all the blessed depths of home 



100 THE GOLDEN AGE IN THE PKESENT. 

And myriad hearts that weep and strive ? 
Are there no desolate and poor 
To nourish from thy store? 
No songs of joy and glowing praise 
Thy voice might help to raise ? 
JSTo heart long left alone 

Till it grew stiff and chill ; 

Thy voice might waken with a thrill 
Of love, long, long unknown ? 
Is earth too small to hold 

The yearnings of thy love ? 

Is there not heaven above 
As near thee as of old ? 
Does He who came at Pentecost 

His presence now withhold? 
That the first works should e'er be lost. 

Or the first love grow cold. 
Oil, fill thy heart with God, and thou shalt prove 
That there is left enough to trust and love ! 



THE GOLDEN AGE IN THE PKESEJST. 101 

For what is time past but to-daj, 

Mirror' d in still pools peacefullj : 
The future but the same to-day, 

Reflected in a heaving sea ? 
Only the present hour has life, 
The home of work, the field of strife. 
Choose not thy bride among the dead, 

But press the present to thy breast ; 
In her, thy soul shall find its bread, 

Thy mind its sphere, thy heart its rest. 
Till God shall speak another '^ Let there be," 
Aud time, like darkness before light, shall flee 
Before the Now of His eternity. 



THE POET'S FOOD. 

The Poet does Kot dwell apart, enshrined in golden 

beams ; 
He is not mail'd from time's rude blows in a panoply 

of dreams. 

No Pegasus bears him aloft in pathways 'mid the 

clouds ; 
But he must tread the common earth mingling in 

common crowds. 

He dwells not in fair solitudes a still and lone re- 
cluse ; 

But he must handle common tools to his diviner 
use. 



THE POET'S FOOD. 103 

He doth not list in magic caves the music of life's 

ocean, 
Borne freely on its winds and waves, he feels their 

every motion. 

The glory which around him shines is no fictitious 

ray; 
It is the sun which shines on all, the light of common 

day. 

But he has won an open eye to see things as they 
are, 

A glory in God's meanest works which passeth fic- 
tion far. 

His ear is open to discern stirrings of angel 

wings, 
And angel whispers come to him from mute and 

common things. 



10 J: THE poet's food. 

And nature ever meeting him witli the same ra- 
diant face, 

And filling still her daily round with the old quiet 
grace. 

Is fresh and glorious as at first, and mightier far to 

bless. 
His youth's strong passion growing ripe in deep 

home-tend erness. 

Ana truths to which his childhood clung, like 

songs repeated often 
By the sweet voice of one we love, do but the surer 

soften. 

One thing he scorns with bitter scorn, the lived or 

spoken lie. 
Yet knowing what a labyrinth life, how dim the 

inward eye. 



THE poet's food. 105 

Is slow to brand his fellow-man as false, or base, or 

mean^ 
Or aught which hath fed human hearts, as common 

or unclean. 

Nature prepares no royal food for this her royal 



No special banquet is for him at life's full table 

5'd. 



But all life's honest impulses, home joys, and 

cares, and tears, 
The shower of cordial laughter which the clouded 

bosom cheers, 

All earnest voices of his kind, calm thoughts of 

solitude. 
All of the world that is not husks, this is the poet's 

food 



106 THE poet's food. 

Grod's living poem speaks to kim God-like in every 

line ; 
Not all man's hacknej'd renderings can make it 

less divine. 



A TRUE DREAM. 

I DREAMT we danced in careless glee. 
With hearts and footsteps light and free, 
That one so dearly loved and I, 
As in the childish days gone by 
For ever. 

I felt her arms around me fold, 
I heard her soft laugh as of old ; 
Her eyes with smiles were brimming o'er, 
Eyes we may meet on earth no more 
For ever. 

Then there came mingling with my dreams 
A sense perplex' d of loss and change — 
An echo dim of time and tears : 



108 A TRUE DREAM. 

Until I said, '' How long it seems 

Since thus we danced! Is it not strange? 
Do jou not feel the weight of 3^ears ? 
Or dread life's evening shadows cold ? 
Or mourn to think we must grow old?^' 
Wondering, she paused a little while, 
Then answered, with a radiant smile, 

'' No, never 1" 



Wondering as if to her I told 

The customs of some foreign land ; 

Or spoke a tongue she knew of eld. 
But could no longer understand. 

Till o'er her face that sunshine broke. 

And with that radiant smile she spoke 
That "Never.' 



But not until the dream had fled 
I knew the sense of what she said ; 



A TRUE DEEAM. 109 

Young with immortal truth and love, 
Child in the Father's house above 
For ever. 

We echo back thy words again, 
They smite us with no grief or pain ; 
We journey not towards the nighty 
But to the breaking of the light 

Together. 

Our life is no poor cisternal store 
The lavish years are draining low ; 

But living streams that, welling o'er, 
Fresh from the Living Fountain flow 

For ever. 
10 



THE ALPINE GENTIAN, 

She 'mid ice mountains vast 
Long had lain sleeping, 

When she look'd forth at last 
Timidly peeping. 

Trembling she gazed around, 

All round her slept ; 
O'er the dead icy ground 

Cold shadows crept. 

Wide fields of silent snow. 

Still, frozen seas — 
What could her young life do 

'Mid such as these ? 



THE ALPINE GENTIAN. HI 

Not a voice came to her, 

Not a warm breath ; 
What hope lay there for her 

Living 'midst death ? 



MournfuUj pondering 

Gazed she on high ; 
White clouds were wandering 

Through the blue skj. 



There smiled the kindly sun, 

Gentle beams kissed her ; 
On her the mild moon shone 

Like a saint sister. 

There twinkled many a star, 

Danced in sweet mirth ; 
The warm heavens seemed nearer far 

Than the cold earth. 



112 THE ALPINE GENTIAN. 

So she gazed steadfastly 

Loving on high ; 
Till she grew heavenly, 

Blue as the sky. 

And the cold icicles 
ISlear which she grew, 

Thaw'd in her skyey bellg 
Fed her with dew. 

And the tired traveller 

Gazing abroad, 
Fixing his eyes on her 

Thinking of God ; 

Thinks how, 'mid life's cold snoWj 

Hearts to God given 
Breathe out where'er they go, 

Summer and heaven. 



THE FORaET-ME-NOT. 

She dwelt in the greenwood, 
A spring gushing near. 

No fairy queen could 
Queenlier fare. 

Bees knew her caskets ; 

Bold friars grey 
Filling their baskets^ — 

'' For the convent/' said thej. 

Butterfly vagrants 

Gossipp'd there long ; 

Winds brought her fragrance. 

Birds brought her song. 
10* 



114 ' THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 

Leaves rustling o'er her 
Let the light through ; 

The blithe stream would pour her 
Draughts of sweet dew. 

O'er her so clearly 

The warm heavens smiled ; 

Thej all loved her dearly. 
The forest's fair child. 



Thus pass'd her childhood 

Dreamily by, 
By the fount in the wild wood, 

'Neath the blue sky. 

The kind sun above her, 
Stream, bird, and wind. 

She knew not they loved her, 
Knew they were kind. 



THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 115 

Till one day gazing 

In the fount pure and cold, 
A vision amazing 

She saw there unfold. 

A blue eye soft beaming 

Met her blue eye, 
A golden star gleaming. 

A miniature sky. 

Calm the waves under 

The fair vision lay ; 
Lost in sweet wonder. 

She gazed there all day. 

Saw not the heaven, 

Heard not the breeze, 
Till the soft even 

Shadow'd the trees. 



116 THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 

The stars still were shining 

But they seem'd far^ 
While she lay pining 

For her lost star. 

The gentle leaves rustling, 
The night-winds' soft stir, 

Seem'd harsh and bustling, 
Strange voices to her. 

Not heaven's smile moved her, 
Nor the stream's old kind tone ; 

'Mid so many that loved her. 
She wept there alone. 

Till, the shadows dispersing, 

The Sun rose anew, 
The high forest piercing. 

Pierced her heart through. 



THE rOSaET-ME-NOT. 117 

Her dewj eyes raising 

He met them and smiled, 
The eye of heaven gazing 

On her heaven's child. 

For the lost dream was givea 

The Truth brighter far, 
The blue loving heaven, 

The Sun for the star. 

Then all voices moved her, 

The trees grave and tall. 
The deep sky above her, 

The blithe insects small, 
She loved them each one, 
For they all loved the Sun, 

And the Sun loved them all. 



TO A REDBREAST, 

Robin to the bare bough clinging. 
What can thj blithe music mean ? 

Like a hidden fount, thj singing 

Seems to clothe the woods with green. 

What warm nest for thee hath Nature 
Where thj soft red breast to lay ? 

Sing'st thou, little homeless creature, 
For the crumbs we strew' d to-day ? 

Other birds have fled this dun light, 
Soaring on to regions bright. 

Singing in the richest sunlight. 
Singing 'neath the starry night; 



TO A REDBREAST. 119 

Hiding in the broad-leaf d shadows 

Of the southern woods at noon^ 
Filling all the flower-starr"d meadows 

As with melodies of June. 

Knowest thou the woods have voices 
Which like light the heart unfold, 

Till it trembles and rejoices. 
Growing deep that joj to hold ? 

Pouring music like a river, 

Man J- toned and deep and strong, — 

Tones by which, like childhood's, quiver 
Thj few notes of simple song. 

Then the " crimson-tipped" thing, 

Like a daisy among birds, 
With a quiet glee did sing 

Songs condensed thus in words . — 



120 TO A EEDBEEAST. 

^' Well I know the joyous mazes 
Of the songs so full and fine ; 
• Yery faint would be God's praises 
Sounded by no voice but mine. 

'' Yet the little child's sweet laughter 
"Wakes it no responsive smile, — 

Though the poet singeth after, 
And the angels all the while? 

"What I sing I cannot measure. 
Why I sing I cannot say ; 

But I know a well of pleasure 
Springeth in my heart all day." 

So I learned that crumbs are able 
Lowly hearts to fill with song, — 

Crumbs from off a festal table 
Lowly hearts will join ere long. 



TO A EEDBREAST. 121 

He who winter days hath given, 

With the snows gives snow-drops birth ; 

And while angels sing in heaven, 
God hears robins sing on earth. 

Only keep thee on the wing, 

Music dieth in the dust ; 
Nothing that but creeps can sing, 

All hearts that soar heavenward must. 

11 



ST. FRANCIS D'ASSIST'S CANTICUM SOLIS. 

Altissimo omnipotente buon Signore, tue son le laudi, la gloria, 
lo honor, e ogni benediction. A te solo se confanno e nuUo ho- 
mo e degno di nominarti. 

Laudato sia mio Signore per tutte le creature, speeialmente 
Messer lo Fratre Sole, il quale giorna illumina noi per lui. E 
alto e bello e radiante con grande splendore. Da Te Signore 
porta siguificazione. 

Laudato sia mio Signore per Suora Luna e per le stelle le 
quali in cielo le hai formate chiare e belle. 

Laudato sia mio Signore per fratre Yento e per la luce e nu- 
vole e sereno e ogni tempo, per lo quale dai a tutte creature 
sustentamento. 

Laudato sia mio Signore per Suora acqua la quale e molto 
utile e humUe e pretiosa e casta. 

Laudato sia mio Signora per Fratre Fuoco per lo quale tu al- 
lumini la notte, e bello e jocundo e robustissimo e forte. 

Laudato sia mio Signore per nostra Madre Terra la quale ne 
sostenta, governa, e produce diversi frutte, e coloriti fieri e herbi. 

Laudato sia mio Signore per quelli che perdonano per lo tuo 
amore e sosteneno infirmitade e tribulatioue. Beati quelli che 
sostegneranno in pace che da Te Altissimo saranno incoronati. 



CANTICUM SOLIS. 123 



I BLESS Thee, Father, that where'er I go 

A brotherhood of blessed creatures goes 

With me, and biddeth me God speed. For all 

Thj mute and innocent creatures take my thanks 

To me they are child-brethren vfithout speech 

Or sin. 

And first for him, the noblest of them all, 

He who brings day and summer, disenchants 

The ice-bound streams, and wakes the happy birds, 

Pure choristers, to matins ; at whose call 

The young flowers, startled from their hiding-places. 

Peep and laugh ; who clothes the earth, and fills 

The heavens with joy ; and he is beautiful 

And radiant with great splendor. Praise to Thee, 

Highest ! for our royal brother Sun ; 

For bears he not an impress, Lord, of Thee ? 



124 CANTICUM SOLIS. 

And praise for her our holj white-veiled sister, 

Dwelhng on high in heavenly puritj ; 

And for the radiant hosts that bear her company, 

For they are bright and beautiful. 

Praise for the moon and stars. 

Praise for our brother Wind, for though his voice 
Is rough at times, and in his savage mood 
He rends the earth, rousing the sea to fury, 
Yet at Thy calm rebuke he layeth by 
His lion nature, frisketh like a lamb 
Beside the streams, and gently crisps with snow 
The sapphire waves, and stirs the corn, and wakes 
The languid flowers to life, and lays dead blossoms 
Softly in their graves ; for the strong winds, 
The rough but kindly winds, we bless Thee, Lord. 

And for our sister, Water, mountain child 
Whose happy feet make music on the hills. 
For her who bounds so lio:ht from rock to rock, 



CANTICUM SOLIS. 125 

Yet brings a blessing wberesoe'er sbe comes. 
She spurns all fetters, laughs at all restraint, 
Yet scorns no lowliest ministry of love, 
Abiding peacefully in roadside wells, 
And sparkling welcomes in the peasant's cup. 
Nature's sweet almoner ! all praise for her ! 
For she is useful, precious, meek, and chaste. 
We bless Thee, Lord, for her. 

And for our brother, Fire ! — fearful is he 
When he goes forth exulting in his strength. 
And all things quail and fly before his face ! 
Yet he will sit a patient minister 
Of blessings on our hearth, and through the night 
He cheers us. He is joyous, bold, robust, 
And strong. Praise, Lord, for him ! 

And for our mother Earth, who feedeth us 
With such unwearied love, and strews our paths 

With rainbow-tinted flowers and healing herbs, 

11* 



126 CANTTCUM SOLIS. 

Our gentle. generouSj most beautiful. 
And ever youthful mother. 

Thus, blessed Christ, all praise to Thee for these 
Thy creatures. They are all Thy ministers. 
And to thy reconciled speak nought but peace. 
Children and servants are we in one household, 
Dwelling before Thee in sweet harmony.' 
bless us all ! Father ! we all bless Thee ! 



NATURE NO SELF-ACTING INSTRUMENT. 

So soberly and softlj 

The seasons tread their round, 
So surely seeds of autumn 

In spring-time clothe the ground , 
Amid their measured music 

What watchful ear can hear, 
God's voice amidst the Garden ? 

Yet, hush ! for He is here ! 

No mere machine is nature. 

Wound up and left to play, 
No wind-harp swept at random 

By airs that idly stray ; 
A Spirit sways the music, 

A Hand is on the chords, 
0, bow thy head and listen. — - 

That hand it is the Lord's ! 



ON THE GRAVE OF A FAITHFUL DOG 

Theee trees which stand apart upon 
A sunnj slope of meadow ground, 

A shadow from the heat at noon, — 
And underneath a grassy mound. 

A little silent grassy mound : — 

And is this all is left of thee, 
Whose feet would o'er the meadow bound, 

So full of eager life and glee ? 

Of '' thee?" and may I say e'en this 
Of what so wholly passed away ? 

Or caa such trust and tenderness 
Be crush' d entirely into clav ? 



ON THE GRAV-E OF A FAITHFUL DOG. 129 

The voice whose welcomes were so glad, 
Feet pattering like summer showers, 

The dark ejes which would look so sad 
If gathering tears were dimming ours ; 

Those wistful, dark, inquiring ejes. 
So fond and watchful, deep and true. 

That made the thought so often rise — 

What looks those crystal windows through ? 

Didst thou not watch for hours our track. 

And for the absent seem to pine ? 
And when the well-known voice came back, 

What ecstasy could equal thine ? 

Is it all lost in nothingness. 

Such gladness, love, and hope, and trust, 
Such busy thought our thoughts to guess, 

All trampled into common dust ? 



130 ON THE GRAVE OF A FAITHFUL DOG. 

Save memories which our hearts entwine, 
Has all for ever passed away, 

Like the dear home once thine and mine, 
The home now silent as thy clay ? 

Or is there something yet to come. 
From all our science still conceal' d, 

About the patient creatures dumb 
A secret yet to be reveal'd ? 

A happy secret still behind, 

Yet for the mute creation stored, 

Which suffers, though it never sinn'd, 
And loves and toils without reward. 



A JOURNEY ON THE SOUTH-DEVON 
RAILWAY. 

The young oak casts its delicate sliadow 

Oyer the still and emerald meadow ; 

The sheep are cropping the fresh spring grass, 

And never raise their heads as we pass ; 

The cattle are taking their noon-day rest. 

And chewing their cud with a lazy zest, 

Or bathing their feet in the reedy pool 

Switch their tails in the shadows cool ; 
But away, away, we may not stay. 
Panting and puffing, and snorting and start- 

And shrieking and crying, and madly flying, 
On and on, there's a race to be run and a goal to 
be won ere the set of the sun. 



132 A JOUKNEY ON THE SOUTH-DEVON RAILWAY. 

Two white clouds are poised on high, 

Sunning their wings in the azure sky : 

Two white swans float to and fro 

Languidly in the stream below. 

As it sleeps beneath a beechwood tall, 

Clouds, and swans, and trees, and all, 

Image themselves in the quiet stream, 

Passing their lives in a sunny dream ; 
But away, away, we may not stay. 
Panting and puffing, and snorting and starting, 
And shrieking and crying, and madly flying, 

On and on, there's a race to be run and a goal to 
be won ere the set of the sun. 

Under the tall cliffs, green and deep 
The ocean rests in its mid-day sleep ; 
The waves are heaving lazily 

Where the purple sea-weeds float ; 
Sunbeams cross on the distant sea, 

Specked by the sail of the fisher's boat ; 



A JOURNEY ON THE SOUTH-DEVON EAILTVAY. 133 

But awaj, awaj, we may not staj, 

Piinting and puffing, and snorting and start- 

And shrieking and crjing, and madly %ing, 
On and on, there 's a race to be run, and a goal to 
be won ere the set of the sun. 

Into the deep dell's still retreat, 

Where the river rushes beneath our feet, 

Skirling the base of moorland hills, 

By the side of rocky rills, 

Where the wild-bird bathes and plumes its wing, 

Where the fields are fresh with the breath of 

spring, 

Where the earth is hushed in her noon-day prayer, 

No place so sacred but we come there. 

On nature's mid-day sleep we break, 

And are miles away ere her echoes wake : 

We startle the wood-nymphs in their play, 

Ajid ere they can hide are away, away ! 
12 



104 A JOURNEY ON THE SOUTH-DEVON RAILWAY. 

Awajj awaj, we may not staj. 

Panting and puffing, and snorting and start- 
ing, 

And shrieking and crying, and madl/ fljing. 
On and on, there 's a race to be run and a goal to 
be won ere the set of the sun. 



THE THREE TRANCES. 

LEGEND OF A NORTHERISr SEER. 

I WAS a glad and sunnj child, 
And in the fount of life 
Which, gushing from its hidden cave 
In many a clear and sparkling wave, 

Each with sweet music rife, 
Wel^s in the morning sunlight up 

E'en to its stony brim. 
Dropping into each flowery cup 

That trembles on the rim, 
Tbence trickling through the long soft | 
That springs up green where'er it pass, 
(E'en from the stones it lives among 
Ringing a clear and hearty song, 



136 THE THREE TRANCES. 

Each joyous chime and merry burst 
As fresh and giad as 'twere the first), 
I bathed, and quenched my healthy thirst, 
Until my heart grew wild. 

I bounded o'er the bounding turf, 
I shouted to the shouting surf, 

I laugh' d with the merry streams , 
My playmates were the birds and bees, 
The no'sy wind, the whispering breeze. 

And changeful summer gleams. 

And in the still and sultry hours. 
When Nature droop' d and was sad, 
Weary with thirst and heat, 
The tread of my light feet 
Was cool and musical, 
As when, at evening, fall 
Drop by drop in lonely pools the summer showers, 
And the desert looked up and was glad. 



THE THEEB TRANCES. 137 

I strove with the madden' d storm. 

I leapt the crag with the waterfall, 
For the blood in my veins was warm, 

And stormSj and streams, and gleams, and all 
The mighty creatures of the wild, 

In their fierce, exulting play, 
They welcomed me 
To their company, 
And they laughed to see a little child 

As strong and as glad as they. 

Then a shadow came before my eyes, 

And a weight upon my heart, 

And my breath came slow, 

Laden with heavy sighs, 

And one I did not know 

Ever to me 

Clung wearily, 

And whispered that we never more should 

part. 

12* 



138 THE THREE TEANCES. 

And on the crags where I was wont to stand 
He dragged me downward with a heavy hand, 
And on the mountains where I used to be 
As mountain breezes free. 
He came, and then my steps fell heavily, 

And in the forest glad and lone, 
Where winds and ancient trees, 
And the torrent and the breeze, 

Had talk'd to me as to a fellow of their owi. 
His heavy breath my voice would choke, 

His wings would cloud my spirit o'er, 
I could not answer when they spoke. 

And I was of their fellowship no more. 
The waters laugh' d — I could not laugh — 

In their ancient dwelling 

Nature's founts were welling. 
Life-giving as of old, but not for me to quaff. 
For ever he would bide 
By my side, 
And 'neath his heavy tread the springs were dried. 



THE THREE TRANCES. 139 

From crag to crag the torrent sprung, 

Ever young. 
Mj step had lost its spring, 

The young winds sang their wonted song 

The flowers among, 
A song I might not sing. 

The ocean and the stormy winter weather 
Play'd their wild play together 

As of old. 
I could not play, and grew to dread the storm. — 
The blood in nature's veins was warm, 

Mine ran cold. 

And when in noontide hours of weariness 
Nature had laid her down to sleep 
In the solitude. 
My step no more awoke the wilderness. 

My voice no more her parched heart could steep 
With life and good, 



140 THE THREE TRANCES. 

Like fountains gushing in a thirsty place ; 
Nature no more was glad to see mj face, 

For I was faint and sad as she, 
And wheresoever my steps I bent, 
Ever with me that Dark One went 

With heavy footsteps wearily. 
lie drank my cup of life till it was dry, 

He weigh'd upon my heart till it grew cold, 
He touch' d my eyelids hot and heavily, 

And nothing smiled as it had smiled of old 

I laid me down upon a woodland bank, 
Where the breath of spring came slow in languid 
sighs, 

And smiles on me 
Beam'd tearfully 
From out the holy depths of violet eyes ; 

My heart within me sank. 
I laid me down upon the bank and wept : 

A sleep, which was not sleep, came o'er my soul, 



THE THREE TRANCES. 141 

Men mourn' d to see my light of life thus fade ; 

Thej knew not that the Ancient One^ 

That shadow o'er mj soul had thrown, 
That He might commune with me in the shade. 

That cloud of sleep around my sense did roll. 
That He might come to me in visions as I slept. 
Thev knew not that mj sleep had dreams — 

Dreams to which all that seem most real beside 
Are but as lights in restless waves that glide, 

The changeful image of most changeful gleams 

For life is one long sleep, 
O'er which in gusts do sweep 

Visions of heaven ; 
The body but a closed lid. 
By which the real world is hid 
From the spnit slumbering dark below, 
And all our earthly strife and woe, 
Tossings in slumber to and fro, 

* The old Lapland appellation for God 



142 THE THREE TRANCES. 

And all we know of heaven and light 
In visions of the day or night 
To us is given. 

I talked with the Ancient One 
In that mysterious seeming slumber, 

Nor yet with Him alone. 
But blessed spirits without number, 

Who crowd around His throne. 
And loud and clear the tide of praises swell ; — 
Nor only in that lofty sphere they dwell. 

But round His children throng, 
Invisibly ever, 

And pour their glorious song, 
Though audible never, 
Save when at evening, in the solitude. 

When not a breeze has stirred, 
A quiver thrills through all the silent wood ; 

Can it have heard ? 
what a drunkenness of joy my soul doth steep 
With thought of the unutter'd visions of that sleep ! 



THE THREE TRANCES. 143 

And I have been since then 

A prophet amongst men ; 

Thej honor me as one whose eyes 

Have looked upon the mysteries 

Of the true world where spirits dwell, 

To whom the great book is unrolled. 

! if thus reverently they deem 

OF the poor fragments of that dream 

Which can in human words be told, 

What would they think of that I c;innot tell ? 

And when that awful slumber broke. 

He who so long of late 

Was my associate 
No longer closely in my pathway stood, 

But in the sky, 

Heavily, 
Like a thunder cloud with dusky wings did 

brood. 
And to something of my former life I woke. 



144 THE THREE THANCES. 

The sunny laugh, the spring-tide sigh, 

The blood-full vein, 
The bounding step the beaming eye. 

Came not again ; 
Joys that too quickly came and fled, 

To find a name. 
The tears that started in my eye, 

I know not whence, 
And ere I could have question' d why 

Were from hence, — 
The heart that danced amongst the forms of spring, 
Like them a joyous growing thing, — • 
These came not, yet to me were brought ; 
A thousand joys too deep for thought, 
For unto the suffering one 
God sent a joy of His own ; 
And the storm and the solitude 
Again unto my soul were good. 
For ever in the silence and the din 
The unseen spirits talk'd to mine within. 



THE THREE TRANCES. 145 

Yet on mj pathway evermore 
That heavy cloud doth darkly lower, 

Like thunder -laden air, 
Damping each transient thought of mirth, 
Weighing my energies to earth, 

A burden hard to bear. 

And sometimes when I've seen 

My brothers dancing round 

With strength's exulting bound, 

Impatiently my heart would pray 

That I might be even as they, 

Even as I had been ; 

But then some gentle sprite would hover by, 

And breathe a high and cheering word 

Such as the heart's deep waters stirr'd, 

And all my grief would melt in ecstasy. 

Nor only 'neath the cloud, 

By suffering, is my spirit bow'd, 

But with too great a weight of glory, 

As with long years my head is hoary, 
13 



146 THE THREE TRANCES. 

This feeble frame dissolves away, 
Before the blaze of that full day ; 
Life, breathing with t )0 strong a breath, 
Will crush this body into death. 

And twice again that wondrous guest 

Hath come close to my side as of old, 
Hath laid his heavy hand upon my breast, 

Until my blood ran cold. 
Hath hid with stifling breath again 

The light of life from me. 
Hath bound me with a threefold chain 

That draggeth heavily, 
All my raptured soul to steep 
In the sleep which is not sleep. 
To me he is no more unknown, 
Hi3 face has all familiar grown, 
And dearer than the blessed sun, 
For with him comes the Ancient One. 



THE THREE TRANCES. 147 

0, come to me once more ! 

Shadow my spirit o'er ; 

Three times thy hand hath been on me 

Heavily, 
Come with yet heavier grasp, and crush 

This frame to dust ; 
Three times thy breath hath dimm'd my light 

Into night ; 
Come and breathe on it mightily, 

Till it die. 
Three times the cloud of sleep o'er my soul 

Thou didst roll ; 
Come now, and fix the shadow there. 

Let me sleep e'er. 
That I may dream those visions o'er 

Evermore. 
Nay ; with loud voice this slumber break, 

That I may wake, 
And be with the Ancient One 

By His throne. 



148 THE THREE TRANCES. 

Come now, and with no feeble hand. 

Strain thj band, 
Until this heavy veil be riven. 

Which shuts mj spirit from the light : 
Come, Strong One, bear my soul to heaven, 

And crush this lid which shrouds my sight ; 
I care not what the anguish be, 

So I be free ; 
Come, choke this slow and laboring breath, 
And I will bless thee, Death. 



ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCE 
CONSOET. 

Silently springing upward, as grow the things 

of God, 
His life grew up among us, and cast its sliade 

abroad ; 

Silently, as the sapling grows to the forest oak ; — 
As the Temple on the Hill of Grod, profaned by 
no rude stroke.* 

Silently, as the sun-light deepens through all the 

air, 
Till, scarcely thinking whence it comes, we feel it 

everywhere ; — 

* A comparison used in the London Times in reference to the 
Prince Consort, 



150 ON THE DEATH OF'THE PRINCE CONSORT. 

Yet only as he leaves us, we gaze upon the suiij 
And as we say, " How beautiful !" he sets, and 
day is done. 

Silently pressing onward, as work the men of God, 
The lowly path of duty, on the dizzy heights he 
trod. — 

Gifted with powers which meaner men with fadeless 

bays have crowned ; 
With a poet's sense of beauty in hue, and form, 

and sound ; 

Steadfastly, as for life or fame, — yet not for selfj— 

he wrought ; 
But royally for others spent strength, and time, 

and thought ; 

In guiding other men to fame, — showing what fame 

should be, — 
Inspiring other men to do, and training them to see ; 



ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCE CONSORT. 151 

Lightening the heart of genius from the crippling 

load of care ; 
Making poor men's homes more home-like, and all 

men's homes more fair ; 



Bringing beauty, like the sunshine, into common 

things, and small ; 
Ennobling toil for working-men, ennobling life 

for all! 

In lowly, self-forgetful works, none but the no- 
blest do. 

Till few among the mighty have left a fame so 
true ; 

Living a life so meekly great beside an empire's 

throne, 
That the humblest man among us, by it might 

mould his own ; 



152 ON THE DEATH OF THE -PRINCE CONSORT. 

Dying, to bind a nation, as onlj tears can bind, 
For once, with all its myriad aims, one home, one 
heart, one mind ; 

Crowned by an empire's sorrow, mourning from 

end to end ; 
Wept silently in countless homes, as eacli had lost 

a friend. 



Thus silently God took him, early ripened in his 

prime, 
From the echoes and the shadows of these dim 

shores of Time; 

To the Song which wakes the echoes, broken here 

by din and strife ; 
To the Light which casts the shadows, the Light 

in whom is life ; 



ON THE DEATH OF THE PRUs^CE COXSORT. 153 

To the Throne for us abandoned once, for the Cross, 

and shame, and pain ; 
To the One who sits there evermore, — the One who 

has been slain ; 

To the living, loving Fountain of all great, and 

good, and fair, — 
To dwell with Him for ever, and be made perfect 

there ! 

And e'en from such a home as his, where all 

earth's best v/as blent. 
Can we doubt, when God thus called him, thai; 

willingly he went ? 



But for that perfect home his loss has left so 

desolate. 
And for that woe, made matchless by years of joy 

so great. 



154 ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCE CONSORT. 

Thj people would have shed their Wood this woe 

from thee to keep ; 
But now what can thy nation do, our Queen, for 

thee but weep ! 

Yet, has not God his balms for pain nothing on 

earth can still ; 
Balms which can pluck the sting from grief, — 

balms which its void can fill ? 

The first to take the sting away, — " Fear not, for 

I am love ; 
He is with me, and I with thee ; and it is Home 

above !" 

The second, when the anguish so keen, and new, 

and strange, 
Has sunk into the slow, dull pain, the blank that 

cannot change ; 



ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCE CONSORT. 155 

Then, through the void that healing Voice breathes 

its soft balm again, — 
" Life is no empty, barren waste, and grief is not 

in vain !" 

Empty for none; and least of all, Motlier and 

Queen, for thee; 
Could tears but tell thee what thou art to us, and 

still shalt be ! 

What it has been to Britain, through years of 

storm and gloom. 
To honour in her highest place, for a chair of 

state, — a home I 

Could' St thou but know the healing dews of honest, 

loving tears, 
Which flow for thee, from eyes long dried by the 

dull weight of cares ; 



156 ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCE CONSORT. 

Or how the love thy life has won through all thj 

happy years. 
Deepened to tenderest reverence, now soars to 

heaven in prayers ; 

Oh, would not all the track of life, which seems so 

long to grief, 
Filled with such service for thy land, even to thee 

seem brief? 

January, 1862. 



PAET III. 

HYMNS AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
14 



THE WAY, THE TRUTH, AND THE LIFE. 

Thou art the Way ! 
All ways are thorny mazes without Thee ; 

"Where hearts are pierced, and thoughts all aim- 
less stray, 
In Thee the heart stands firm, the life moves free : 
Thou art our Way ! 



Thou art the Truth ! 
Questions the ages break against in vain 

Confront the spirit in its untried youth ; 
It starves while learning poison from tlie grain : 

Thou art the Truth I 



160 THE WAY, THE THUTH, AND THE LIFE. 

Thou art the Truth! 
Truth for the mind grand, glorious, infinite. 

A heaven still boundless o'er its highest growth ; 
Bread for the heart its daily need to meet. 
Thou art the Truth 1 



Thou art the Light ! 
Earth bejond earth no faintest raj can give ; 
Heaven's shadeless noontide blinds vuv mortal 
sight ; 
In Thee we look on God, and love, and live : 
Thou art our Lio;ht ! 



Thou art the Rock ! 
Doubts none can solve heave wild on every side, 
Wave meeting wave of thought in ceaseless 
shock ; 
On Thee the soul rests calm amidst the tide : 
Thou art our Rock ! 



THE WAY, THE TRUTH, AND THE LIFE. 161 

Thou art the Life ! 
All ways without Thee paths that end in death ; 

All life without Thee with death's harvest rife ; 
All truths dr J bones, disjoined, and void of breath. 
Thou art our Life ! 

For Thou art Love ! 
Our Way and End ! the way is rest with Theo 1 

living Truth, the truth is life in Thee ! 
Life essential, life is bliss with Thee I 
For Thou art Love ! 

14" 



THE PATHWAYS OF THE HOLY LAND. 

The pathways of Thy land are little changed 

Since thou wert there ; 
The busy world through other ways has ranged, 

And left these bare. 

The rocky path still climbs the glowing steep 

Of Olivet, 
Though rains of two millenniums wear it deep, 

Men tread it yet. 

Still to the gardens o'er the brook it leads, 

Quiet and low ; 
Before his sheep the Shepherd on it treads, 

His voice they know. 



THE PATHWAYS OF THE HOLY LAND. 163 

The wild fig throws broad shadows o'er it still. 

As once o'er Thee ; 
Peasants go home at evening up that hill 

To Bethany. 

And as when gazing Thou didst weep o'er them. 

From height to height 
The white roofs of discrown' d Jerusalem 

Burst on our sight. 

These ways were strew'd with garments once and palm 

Which we tread thus ; 
Here through Thy triumph on Thou passedst, calm, 

On to Thy cross. 

The waves have wash'd fresh sands upon the shore 

Of Galilee ; 
But chisell'd in the hill-sides evermore 

Thy paths we see. 



164 THE PATHWAYS OF THE HOLY LAND. 

Man has not changed them in that slumb'ring land, 

ISTor time effaced : 
Where Thy feet trod to bless we still may stand ; 

All can be traced. 

Yet we have traces of Thy footsteps far 

Truer than these ; 
Where'er the poor, and tried and suffering are, 

Thy steps faith sees. 

Nor with fond sad regrets Thy steps we trace ; 

Thou art not dead ! 
Our path is onward, till we see thy face. 

And hear thy tread. 

And now, wherever meets Thy lowliest band 

In praise and prayer, 
There is Thy presence, there Thy Holy Land, 

Thou, Thou, art there ! 



VEILED ANGELS. 

OR AFFLICTIOiirS. 

Unnumbek'd blessings, rich and free, 
Have come to us, our God, from Thee. 

Sweet tokens written with Thy name, 
Bright angels from Thy face they came. 

Some came with open faces bright. 
Aglow with heaven's own living light. 

And some were veil'd, trod soft and slow, 
And spoke in voices grave and low. 

Yeil'd angels, pardon ! if with fears 
We met you first, and many tears. 



166 VEILED ANGELS. 

We take you to our hearts no less ; 
We know ye come to teach and bless. 

We know the love from which ye come ; 
We trace you to our Father's home. 

We know how radiant and how kind 
Your faces are, those veils behind. 

We know those veils, one happy day, 
In earth or heaven, shall drop away ; 

And we shall see you as ye are, 
And learn why thus ye sped from far. 

But what the joy that day shall be, 
We know not yet ; we wait to see. 

For this, angels, well we know, 
The way ye came our souls shall go : 



VEILED ANGELS. 167 

Up to the love from wbich ye come, 
Back to our Father's blessed home. 

And bright each face, unveil' d, shall shine, 
Lord when the Veil is rent from Thine ! 



THE WORD OF LIFE. 

* We are His -workmanship, created in Christ Jesus anVo ^ocd works.' 

We know there once was One on earth 

Who penetrated all He saw, 
To whom the lilj had its worth, 

And Nature bared her inmost law. 
And when the mountain-side He trod, 

The universe before Him shone, 
Translucent in the smile of God, 

Like young leaves in the morning sun. 
Glorj which Greece had never won, 
To consecrate her Parthenon. 

Nature her fine transmuting powers 

Laid open to His piercing ken : 
The life of insects and of flowers ; 

The lives, and hearts, and minds of men ; 



THE WOKD OF LIFE. 169 

Depths of the geologic past, 

The mission of the youngest star ; — 

No mind had ever grasp so vast, 
No science ever dived so far. 

All that our boldest guess sees dim 

Lay clearly visible to Him. 

Had He but uttered forth m song 

The visions of His waking sight, 
The thoughts that o'er His soul would throng. 

Alone upon the hills at night ; 
What poet's loftiest ecstacies 

Had stirred men with such rapturous awe 
As would those living words of His, 

Calm utterance of what He saw ! 
All earth had on those accents hung, 
All ages with their echoes rung. 

But He came not alone to speak, 

He came to live, He came to die : 
15 



170 THE WORD OF LIFE. 

Living, a long lost race to seek ; 

Djing, to raise the fallen high. 
He came, Himself the living Word, 

The Godhead in His person shone ; 
But few and poor were those who heard. 

And wrote His words when He was gone, — 
"Words children to their hearts can clasp, 
Yet angels cannot wholly grasp. 

But where those simple words were flung. 

Like raindrops on the parched green, 
A living race of poets sprung, 

Who dwelt among the things unseen ; 
Who loved the fallen, sought the lost, 

Yet saw beneath time's masks and shrouds, 
lYhose hfe was one pure holocaust, 

Death but a breaking in the clouds : 
His volume as the world was broad, 
His Poem was the Church of God. 



NOT GRUDGINGLY, OR OF NECESSITY 

THE MrRACLE AT THE MAREIAGE FEAST. 

The Hand that strews the earth with flowers 
Enrich' d the marriage feast with wine; 

The Hand once pierced for sins of ours 
This morning made the dew-drops shine ; 

Makes rain-clouds palaces of art, 

Makes ice-drops beauteous as thej freeze ; 

The heart that bled to save, — that heart 
Sends countless gifts each day to please ; 

Spares no minute refining touch 

To paint the flower, to crown the feast, 

Deeming no sacrifice too much ; 
Has care and leisure for the least ; 



172 NOT GEUDaiNaLY, OR OF NECESSITY. 

Gives freely of its very best. 

Not barely what the need may be. 

But for the joy of making bless'd — 
Teach us to love and give like Thee ! 

Not narrowly men's claims to measure, 
But question daily all our powers : 

To whose cup can we add a pleasure ? 

Whose path can we make bright with flowers ? 



DURABLE RICHES. 

The meanest creature of His care 
Finds some soft nest to greet it made, 

The hunted beast has yet its lair ; — 
He had not where to lay His head. 

'And scarce a little child that dies 

But has its treasured things to share ; 

Its little store of legacies 

Love hoards thenceforth with sacred care. 

He left no treasure to divide ; 

E'en the poor garments which He wore 

Were shared by strangers ere He died, 

For their own worth, and nothing more. 
15* 



174 DUEABLB KICHES. 

Yet when the first disciples trod 
Yinejards and fields of other men. 

Pilgrims beside the Son of God, 

Had royal grants enriched them then ? 

Or when, on His ascension-day. 

They stood once more on Olivet, 
And town and village 'neath them lay. 

Gems in their vines and olives set, — 

Nor vines or olives, house or lands, 

They own'd those hills and valleys o'er, 

Yet, when Christ lifted up His hands 

And bless'd them, were those Christians poor ? 

If of that world which is His own, 
Where every knee to Him shall bow, 

Some special acres each had won, 
Had they been richer then, or now? 



THE CRUSE THAT EAILETH NOT. 

" It is more blessed to give tlian to receive." 

Is thy cruse of comfort wasting ? rise and share it 

with another, 
And through all the years of famine it shall serve 

thee and thy brother ; 

Love Divine will fill thy storehouse, or thy hand- 
ful still renew ; 

Scanty fare for one will often make a royal feast 
for two. 

For the heart grows rich in giving ; all its wealth 

is living grain ; 
Seeds, which mildew in the garner, scatter'd, fill 

with gold the plain. 



176 THE CRUSE THAT FAILETH NOT. 

Is thy burden hard and heavy ? do thy steps drag 

wearily ? 
Help to bear thy brother's burden ; God will bear 

both it and thee. 

Numb and weary on the mountains, wouldst thou 

sleep amidst the snow ? 
Chafe that frozen form beside thee, and together 

both shall glow. 

Art thou stricken in life's battle ? Many wounded 

round thee moan ; 
Lavish on their wounds thy balsams, and that balm 

shall heal thine own. 

Is the heart a well left empty ? None but God its 

void can fill ; 
Nothing but a ceaseless Fountain can its ceaseless 

longings still. 



THE CEUSB THAT FAILETH NOT. 177 

Is the heart a living power? self-entwin'd, its 

strength sinks low ; 
It can only live in loving, and by serving love will 

grow. 



ONLY THAT THE SUN IS COMING 

Shall the summer have no singing ? 

Shall so much of good be given, 
And no sweet return of praises 

Rise to meet the songs of heaven ? 

All mj life, from morn till even, 
So with happy cares be fraught, 

That a slumbrous spell of silence 

Chains the deeper founts of thought ? 

So I mused one summer morning, 
When sweet songs the silence stirr'd, 

Filling all the air with gladness, 
From a little caged bird. 



ONLY THAT THE SUN IS COMINa. 179 

No especial pomp of sunrise 

Woke that earlj jojous hymn ; 
No peculiar fount of blessing 

Gush'd that morning fresh for him. 

Only that the sun is coming, 

Rising slowly o'er the hill, 
This familiar joy sufficing 

All his happy heart to fill. 

Only that the sun is coming, — 

All the world's dear light and his, — 

Therefore, o'er the still grey morning 
Flows his song in ecstasies. 

Yet his sun, this night departing, 

Leaves him caged and desolate ; 
Whilst our Sun, in glory rising. 

Bursts the cage, and shall not set ; 



180 ONLY THAT THE SUN IS COMINa. 

Breaks the bars, unveils the eyesight, 
Sets us free to gaze and soar, 

Free for tireless song and service 
In the day that dies no more. 

Onlj that the Sun is coming ! 

Had we not a joy but this, 
Should not speech o'erflow in singing, 

And the heart be still in bliss ? 



THE FOLD AND THE PALACE. 

THE FOLD. 

Theeb is a fold, once dearly bought, 

But open'd now to all, 
Reaching from regions high as thought, 

Low as our race can fall. 

Far up among the sunny hills, 
Where breaks the earliest day ; 

Down where the deepest shadow chills 
The wanderer's downward way. 

There some have seen a Shepherd stand. 

Who guards it day and night; 

Mightier than all, His gentle hand. 

His eyes the source of light. 
16 



182 THE FOLD AND THE PALACE. 

I know, tlie feeblest that have e'-er 
Enter'd those precincts bless'd 

Find everlasting safety there. 
Freedom and life and rest. 

But I have wander' d far astray, 
Blinded and wearied sore ; 

How can I find the plainest way, 
Or reach the nearest door ? 

The silence with a voice is fraught, — 
When did I hear that tone ? — 

Awful as thunder, soft as thought, 
Familiar as mine own. 

" I am the Door," those words begin ; 

I press towards that voice, 
And, ere I know it, am within, 

And all within rejoice. 



THE FOLD AND THE PALACE. 183 

THE PALACE. 

There is a Palace vast and bright ; 

Athwart the night's cold gloom 
Stream its soft music and warm light, — 

A Palace, yet a Home. 

The guests who are invited there 

Are call'd therein to dwell ; — 
"Laden with sin, oppressed with care," 

The callmg suits me well. 

They say none ever knock'd in vain, 

Yet I have often tried, 
And scarce have strength to try agam, — 

Will one, then, be denied ? 

Again that voice my spirit thrills, 

So strange, yet so well known. 
Divine, as when it rent the hills, 

Yet human as my own. 
15 



184: THE FOLD AND THE PALACE. 

The golden portals softly melt 
Like clouds around the sun, 

And where they stood, and where I knelt, 
Behold that matchless One ! 

He pleads for me, He pleads with me, 

He hears ere I can call ; 
Jesus ! my first step is to Thee, 

And Thy first gift is all! 



THE TWO REPROACHES. 

Thy voice made rocks Thy fountains ; ocean waves 

A wall around Thy chosen ; desert caves 

Their temples ; flames their car of victory. 

Thy touch made lepers pure as infancy. 

Thy word lulls storms to sleep, like babes at play : 

Or, as they rage, bids them white chrisoms lay 

For flowers. Thy smile makes tears of sinful men 

The joy of angels. Shall we wonder, then. 

That blinded hate, and envy mask'd in s6orn, 

Twining for Thee the crown of sharpest thorn, 

But wove a wreath of glory for Thy brow ; 

And broken hearts, which sins and sorrows bow, 

Scanning through all the heaven of Thy Word 

Some special guiding-star of hope to see ; 

And angels, searching tributes, for their Lord, 

Finding these words of those that hated Thee, 
16* 



186 THE TWO REPROACHES. 

'' This man receiveth sinners,''^ and again 
(Written in blood earth's darkest record o'er), 
'' He saved others ^^^ pause and search no more ;- 
Both finding all thej sought, gaze and adore. 



SUGGESTED BY THE PROMETHEUS BOUND. 

Thy tortures made no lament, 
No pity with their task was blent ; 
Thj cup of anguish was unmix' d, 
And human hands Thy hands transfix'd, 
Thou who lovedst man ! 

No ocean beam'd Thine eyes before, 
With "countless laughter" dimpled o'er, 
But heayings of an angry sea 
Of human faces mocking Thee, 

Thou who lovedst man ! 

No " fragrant stir of heavenly wings," 
But mockeries and murmurings ; 
No depths divine of azure sky, 
But darkness dread received Thy cry, 
Thou who lovedst man ! 



188 SUGGESTED BY THE PBOMETHEUS BOUND. 

Yet was Thy cry of agony 
Earth's first true peal of victory. 
Hushing the world-old blasphemy, 
That God gives good reluctantly, 
God who lovedst man ! 

Since Thou thus sufieredst to fulfil 
Willing the Father's loving will, 
And lifting ofi" the load of sin 
Let the free tide of love flow in, 

Thou who lovedst man ! 

The Fount of Fire for us is won, 
Since Life and Light in Thee are one, 
Thy bonds have made the fetter 'd free, 
And man unbound Love binds to Thee, 
Christ who lovedst us ! 



EUREKA. 

Comb and rejoice with me ! 

For once my heart was poor, 
And I have found a treasury 

Of love, a boundless store. 

Come and rejoice with me ! 

I who was sick at heart, 
Have met with One who knows my case, 

And knows the healing art. 

Come and rejoice with me ! 

For I was wearied sore. 
And I have found a mighty arm 

"Which holds me evermore. 



190 



Come and rejoice with me ! 

Mj feet so wide did roam, 
And One has sought ms from afar, 

And beareth me s fe home. 

Come and rejoice with me ! 

For I have found a Friend 
Who knows mj heart's most secret depths. 

Yet loves me without end. 

I knew not of His love, 

And He had loved so long, 
With love so faithful and so deep. 

So tender and so strong. 

And now I know it all. 

Have heard and know His voice, 
And hear it still from day to day ;— 

Can I enough rejoice ? 



THE GOSPEL IN THE LORD'S SUPPER. 

No Gospel like this Feast 

Spread for Thy Church by Thee, 

Nor prophet nor evangelist 
Preach the glad news so free. 

Picture and Parable ! 

All Truth and Love Divine, 
In one bright point made visible, 

Hence on the heart they shine. 

All our Redemption cost, 

All our Redemption won ; 
All it has won for us, the lost, 

All it cost Thee, the Son. 



192 THE GOSPEL IN THE LORD'S SUPPER. 

Thine was the bitter price, — 
Ours is the free gift given ; 

Thine was the blood of sacrifice. 
Ours is the wine of heaven. 

For Thee the burning thirst, 
The shame, the mortal strife, 

The broken heart, the side transpierced ;- 
To us the Bread of Life. 

To Thee our curse and doom 

Wrapp'd round Thee with our sin, 

The horror of that midday gloom. 
The deeper night within. 

To us Thy Home in light, 

Thy '' Come, ye blessed, come !'' 

Thy bridal raiment, pure and white, 
Thy Father's welcome home. 



THE GOSPEL IN THE LOED'S SUPPER. 193 

Here we would rest midway 

As on a sacred height. 
That darkest and that brightest Day 

Meeting before our sight ; 

From that dark depth of woes 

Thy love for us hath trod, 
Up to the heights of bless' d repose 

Thy love prepares with God ; 

Till, from self's chains released, 

One sight alone we see. 
Still at the Cross as at the Feast, 

Behold Thee, only Thee ! 



ON A BAPTISM. 

" The waves of this troublesome world." 

Near the shore the bark laj floating, by the sunny 

•vyaves caress' d, 
With the darling we were watching cradled in a 

dreamy rest. 

But, borne o'er that heaving ocean, wilder sounds 

our gladness check, 
Stormy winds and human wailings ; Ah ! that sea 

bears many a wreck. 

Fear not I' hopes no strength could warrant to the 
feeblest faith are given : 

Looking forward strains the eyesight, — looking up- 
ward opens heaven. 



ON A BAPTISM. 195 

Deeper than that ocean's tempests, softer than its 

murmurs be, 
Breathes a Voice, a Voice thou knowest, "Trust 

thy little one to Me." 

Thou hast brought thy babe to Jesus ; He hath 

seen her. He hath bless' d ; 
In His arms thj faith hath laid her, and He bears 

her on His breast. 

Gently on thy sleeping darling, eyes, the light of 

heaven, shine ; 
Mother, by the love thou knowest, measure His ; it 

passeth thine. 



NEW YEARNS HYMN. 

What marks the dawning of the year 

From any other morn ? 
No festal garb doth nature wear 

Because a Year is born. 

The sky is not more full of light, 

The air more full of song, 
And silent from the caves of night 

Glide the grey hours along. 

And Ij to whose awaken' d eyes 
So fair this morn appears, — 

How know I where to-morrow lies ? 
God grants not life by years. 



NEW year's hymn. 197 

Father ! to-daj upon my head 

Thy hand in blessing lay ; 
Give us this day our daily bread, 

Renew our hearts to-day. 

Our Lord and Saviour ! all we ask 

Is that, through Thee, forgiven, 
To us each day our daily task. 

Our daily strength be given. 

That when at last the Trump of Doom 

Sends its long peal abroad. 
We, glad within Thy heavenly home. 

May keep the Day of God. 



SUNDAY EVENING HYMN. 

A:^OTHEii day of heavenly rest, 

And angels' toil is ended, 
And to the chorus of the bless'd 

The last hymn has ascended. 
Tranquil as an infant's sleep 

Eve shadows cot and meadow ; 
Let Thy peace with calm as deep 

The wearied spirit shadow. 

As of old the apostle band 

All their labors bore Thee, 
Lowly at thy feet we stand. 

Lay our work before Thee. 
Pardon Thou the imperfect deed, 

Crown the weak endeavor, 
Prosper Thou the heavenly seed, 

Work Thou with us ever. 



SUNDAY EVEI>TINa HYMN. 199 

Thou know'st how sin and error e'er 
- In all our efforts mingle, 
How seldom mortal eye is clear, 

Or human purpose single. 
Let Thy blood, dying Lord, 

Blot out all our evil ; 
Let Thy touch. living Word, 

All our errors shrivel. 

Let Thy lambs we sought to feed 

By Thy hand be nourish 'd ; 
Let them be Thy lambs indeed, 

In thy bosom cherish' d. 
To the griefs we cannot reach 

Breathe Thou consolation ; 
To the hearts we cannot teach 

Bring Thou Thy salvation. 

May the tone of this day's prayers 
Vibrate through the seven ; 



200 SUNDAY EVENING HYMN. 

Sabbaths, work-days, pleasures, tears, 

Mould us all for heaven. 
That taking thus each joj and woe 

As Thy gifts parental. 
To us life's daily bread may grow 

Viands sacramental. 



EARLY RISING HYMN. 

Wake ! the costly hours are fleeting ; 

Wake, arise ! 
Wake, and let light's joyous greeting 

Hail thine eyes ! 
God to thee an angel sendeth, 
From the azure heavens descendeth 

Fresh as May 

The new-born Day. 

On her head a crown she weareth, 

With blessings rife ; 
In her hands a cup she beareth, 

A cup of life. 
Every drop of its full measure 
Is a pearl of heavenly treasure : 

Haste ; arise ! 

Claim the prize ! 



202 EARLY RISING HYMN. 

Let some drops in free libation 

First be pour-d, 
Pour'd in lowly adoration 

To thy Lord ! 
To Him Tvho bore such anguish for thee. 
Him who, risen, watcheth o'er thee, 

Wake and raise 

Songs of praise ! 

Where the watch thou should' st be keeping ? 

Child of day ! 
Saints are weeping, sinners sleeping, 

Rise and pray ! 
Think what Night is deepening o'er thee. 
Think what Morning lies before thee. 

Child of Day, 

Rise and pray ! 

Saviour, rouse me, nerve me, bless me 
With strencrth divine ; 



EARLY RISING HYMN. 203 

Wholly let Thy love possess me, — 

Me and Mine. 
Let each moment soar above 
Laden with some work of love, 

Till we rise 

To Thy skies. 

That, thus knit in blessed union, • 

Lord, to Thee ! 
Every act may be communion, 

Lord, with Thee ! 
And Thy presence ever near us 
May o'er each temptation cheer us 

Thus to rise — 

Thus to rise ! 



SOWING IN TEARS. 

TO A MISSIONAEY WHO HAD LABOEED MANY TEARS WITHOUT 
SEEING ANT RESULT. 

Ye have not sowed in vain ! 

Though the heavens seem as brass, 
And, piercing the crust of the burning plain, 

Ye scan not a blade of grass. 

Yet there is life within, 

And waters of life on high : 
One morn je shall wake, and the spring's soft green 

O'er the moisten'd fields shall lie : 



Tears in the dull, cold eje, 

Light on the darken'd brow, 
The smile of peace, or the prayerful sigh, 

Where the mockino; smile sits now. 



SOWING IN TEARS. 205 

Went ye not forth with prayer ? 

Then ye went not forth in vain ; 
'' The Sower, the Son of man," v;as thare, 

And His was that precious grain. 

Ye may not see the bud. 

The first sweet signs of spring, 
The first slow drops of the quickening shower 

On the dry, hard ground that ring ; 

But the harvest-home ye *11 keep, 

The summer of life ye '11 share, 
When they that sow and they that reap 

Rejoice together there f 
18 



THE WELL AT SYCHAR. 

(OW PINDIKG IT FILLED UP BY THE AKAES.) 

They have stopp'd the sacred well which the pa- 
triarchs dug of old, 

"Where they water' d the patient flocks at noon, 
from the depths so pure and cold ; 

Where the Saviour asked to drink, and found at 

noon repose : 
But the living spring He open'd then no human 

hands can close. 

The J have scatter' d the ancient stones, where at 

noon He sat to rest : 
None ever shall rest by that well again, and think 

how His accents bless'd ; 



THE WELL AT SYCHAR. 207 

But the Rest for the burden' d heart, the Shade in 

the weary land, 
The riven Rock with its living streams, for ever 

unmoved shall stand. 

Earth has no Temple now, no beautiful House of 

God; 
Or earth is all one temple-floor which those sacred 

feet hath trod. 

But in heaven there is a Throne, a Home, and a 
House of prayer: 

Thyself the Temple, Thyself the Sun ; our pil- 
grimage endeth there ! 

Hablotis, June, 1856. 



SONG FOR AN INFANT SCHOOL. 

Thus we sing as we march, and we march as we 

sing, 
And the joy of our hearts in our voices shall ring. 

The little birds fill all the air with their glee, 
Yet they 've not half as much to be glad of as we : 
So with thrushes and blackbirds we '11 joyfully sing 
All thanks to our Father, all praise to our King. 

The grasshopper chirps in the long summer grass, 
The frisking lambs bleat in the fields as we pass : 
So with wee things and young things we '11 joyfully 

sing 
All thanks to our Father, all praise to our King. 



SONG FOR AN INFANT SCHOOL. 209 

The river shouts glad as it dances along, 

The little stream murmurs a sweet, quiet song : 

So with rivers and streamlets we '11 jojfullj 

sing 
All thanks to our Father, all praise to our Ei'ag. 

The breezes sing soft 'mid the thick leaves of 

June, 
E'en the hoarse wintry wind tries to whistle a tune : 
So with soft winds and strong winds we '11 joyfully 

sing 
All thanks to our Father, all praise to our King. 



Pleasant songs at his work hums the blithe, busy 

bee 
And we'll not be less blithe or less busy than 

he: 
So with all busy creatures we '11 joyfully sing 

All thanks to our Father all praise to our King. 

18* 



210 SONG FOE THE INFANT SCHOOL. 

Thus God gives a measure of gladness to all, 
And a share of His praises to great and to small . 
So we who owe most will most thankfully sing. 
And our voices, though weak, to His footstool shall 
riiig. 



ALL LIYE UNTO HIM. 

{For a Friend on the Death of her Little Bey.) 

Thy voice is not hush'd, darling, though to me its 

tones are still, 
And have left a silence in mj home no music e'er 

can fill ; 
There is a place within God's world where Thou 

art heard, my boy, 
And thy words are words of praise, and thy tones 

are tones of joy. 

Thine eyes are not closed, darling, though they are 

closed to me, 
And half the light is gone with them from all the 

sights I see ; 



212 ALL LIVE UNTO HIM. 

They have but open'd on the day, the day that 

needs no rest, 
And they shine like happy stars in the heaven of 

the bless' d. 
Thy spirit has not pass'd away, no sleep its vision 

shronds ; 
It has but pass'd into the light, the light beyond 

the clouds. 

Thou art not lonely, darling, though so lone thou 

hast left me, 
Thousands of happy spirits love and rejoice with 

thee ; 
And He who loved the little ones, and tenderly 

caress' d, 
Has laid thee in His arms, darling, and clasp'd thee 

to His breast, 



WAITING. 

{Suggested by Trees tending over a Dry Watercourse near Coma.) 

It will come, it will not tarry ! we shall not wait 

in vain, 
With a burst of sudden thunder, or the trickling of 

quiet rain, 

A tranquil stream of blessing will well around our 

roots, 
And the thrill of life will vibrate to our utmost 

budding shoots. 

Or when all the land is silent, lifeless, and sad, and 

dumb, 
From the snowy mountain-ranges the sound of joy 

will come ; 



214 wAiTiNa. 

The shock of the ancient battle (for the storm, not 

the calm, comes first), 
And from the unchain' d glaciers the river of life 

will burst, 

Ringing new peals of triumph through all the sul- 
try plain, 

For the light and the life must conquer, and the 
dead must live again. 

Therefore with loving patience we bend o'er these 

channels dumb. 
Awaiting the vanish' d Presence, and the Life which 

is to come. 



A SICK CHILD'S DREAM OF HEAVEN. 

Oh, mother, come to my bed-side, 

For God in love has given 
The brightest, happiest dream to me ; 

It must have come from heaven. 

So, mother, lay your hand in mine, 

And sit beside me there ; 
I am too weak to talk aloud ; 

I love to feel you near. 

I and some little friends of mine 

Seem'd walking out together 
Along the green and flowery fields, 

In glad warm, summer weather ; 



216 A SICK child's dream of heaven. 

Till to a garden bright we came, 

With silver gates so fair, 
Which made sweet music as thej turn'd 

To let us enter there. 



And flowers of every form and hue 

Grew all that garden o'er ; 
But flowers so fair, so bright, so sweet 

I never saw before. 

And our poor Marianne was there, 

Who died some weeks ago. 
And many more Vyq heard jou say 

Pass'd through great pain and woe. 

But now no tears are in their eyes, 

No pain is on their brow ; 
You would not think they could have wept, 

Were you to see them now. 



A SICK child's dream OF HEAVEN. 217 

With golden crowns upon their heads, 

And robes of dazzling white, 
They smiled and bid us welcome there 

Into that garden bright, 

And show'd us golden crowns and robes 
Which we one day should wear ; 

But not quite yet, till we, like them, 
Had pass'd our trial here. 

But, mother, all those lovely flowers, 
And skies which knew no gloom, 

Did not make half the blessedness 
Of that sweet garden home ; 

Nor yet the robe of snowy white 

The golden diadem ; 

Nor yet the band of blessed friends 

Who welcomed us to them. 
19 



218 A SICK child's dream of heaven. 

But the Lord who loved the little ones 
Walk'd through that happy place ; 

I heard His voice, He spoke to me, — 
Mother, I saw His face ! 

And I am, oh, so happy now, 
Dear mother, weep not thus ; 

I know Pie has a crown for you, 
And you will come to us. 

Oh, do not cry ; I cannot grieve : 
For what are death and pain. 

If we may only hear that voice. 
And see that Face again ! 



TO ONE AT REST. 

And needest thou our prayers no more, safe folded 

'mid the bless'd ? 
How changed art thou since last we met to keep 

the day of rest ! 
Young with the youth of angels, wise with the 

growth of years; 
For we have pass'd since thou hast gone a week of 

many tears, 
And thou hast pass'd a week in heaven, a week 

without a sin. 
Thy robes made white in Jesus' blood, all glorious 

within. 

We shall miss thee at a thousand turns along life's 

weary track, 
Not a sorrow or a joy, but we shall long to call 

thee back, 



220 TO ONE AT KEST 

Yearn for thy true and gentle heart, long thy 

bright smile to see, 
For many dear and true are left, but none are 

quite like thee ! 
And evermore to all our life a deeper tone is given, 
For a playmate of our childhood has enter'd into 

heaven. 

How wise, and great, and glorious, thy gentle soul 

has grown. 
Loving as thou art loved by God, knowing as thou 

art known ! 
Yet in that world thou carest yet for those thou 

lov'dst in this ; 
The rich man did in torments, and wilt not thou in 

bliss? 
For sitting at the Saviour's feet, and gazing in His 

face. 
Surely thou 'It not unlearn one gentle human 

grace. 



TO ONE AT REST. 

Human, and not angelic, the form He deigns to 

wear, 
Of Jesus, not of angels, tlie likeness thou shalt 

bear. 

At rest from all the storms of life, from its night- 
watches drear, 

From the tumultaous hopes of earth, and from its 
aching fear ; 

Sacred and sainted now to us is thj familiar name : 

High is thy sphere above us now, and jet in this 
the same ; 

Together do we watch and wait for that long- 
promised daj. 

When the Voice that rends the tombs shall call, 
" Arise and come away, 

My Bride and my Redeemed, winter and night are 
past. 

And the time of singing and of light has come to 

thee at last;" 

19* 



222 TO ONE AT REST. 

When the Family is gathered, and the Father's 

House completej 
And we and thou, beloved, in our Father's smile 

shall meet. 



'^HE SAVED OTHERS." 

Whei^ scorn and hate, and bitter, envious pride 
Ilurl'd all their darts against the Crucified, 
Found they no fault but this in Him so tried ? 
" He saved others !" 

Those hands, thousands their- healing touches knew ; 
On wither'd limbs, they fell like heavenly dew ; 
The dead have felt them, and have lived anew : 
''He saved others!" 

The blood is dropping slowly from them now; 
Thou canst not raise them from Thy thorn-crowned 

brow, 
Nor on them Thy parch 'd lips and forehead bow : 
" He saved others !" 



224 "he saved others." 

That Yoice from out their graves the dead had 

stirr'd ; 
Crush' d, outcast hearts grew joyful as they heard ; 
For every woe it had a healing word : 

" He saved others !" 

For all Thou hadst deep tones of sympathy — 
Hast Thou no word for this Thine agony ? 
Thou pitiedst all ; doth no man pity Thee ? 

'' He saved others !" 

So many fetter' d hearts Thy touch hath freed, 
Physician ! and Thy wounds unstaunch'd must bleed ; 
Hast Thou no balm for this Thy sorest need ? 
" He saved others!" 

Lord ! and one sign from Thee could rend the sky. 
One word from Thee, and low those mockers lie ; 
Thou mak'st no movement, utter est no cry, 
And savest us. 



MARAH AND ELIM. 

Three long days of desert sunshine, toiling 'neath 

those scorching beams, 
Three long nights of heavy silence, gladdened by 

no sound of streams. 

Hear the waters now around us, see them sparkling 

in the sun ! 
Surely now our trial ceaseth ! — surely now our 

goal is won ! 

Lips long parch'd and seal'd in silence press the 

joyous waves to kiss ; 
Eyes whose tears were dried by anguish overflow 

with tears of bliss ; 



226 MARAH AXD ELIM. 

Toilworn men, themselves untasting, left to dearer 

lips the prize, 
Drinking draughts of deeper pleasure from the 

smile of grateful eyes. 

But a moment ! but a moment may the rapturous 

dream remain ; 
But a moment ! from the nation bursts a sob of 

wildest pain. 

Children dash the bitter waters from them with a 

moaning cry ; 
Mothers, by the mocking fountains, lay their little 

ones to die. 

Hearts that bore the trial bravely, with this shat- 
ter' d hope have burst ; 

Streams for which we pray'd and waited, bitter 
streams, but mock our thirst. 



MARAH AND ELIM. 227 

Was it but for this the ocean, parting, bent our feet 

to kiss, 
Fiercely then our foes overwhelming? Were our 

first-born spared for this ? 

Better to be slaves in Egypt ! better to have per- 
ish' d there ! 

Better ne'er a hope have tasted, than to sink in this 
despair. 

Israel ! Israel ! hush thy murmurs, hide thy guilty 

head in dust ! 
He -who is the Joy of heaven feeleth grief in thy 

distrust. 

Gently to thy wails He answers, '' I am He that 

healeth thee;" 
E'en to-day the streams thou loathest shall thy best 

refreshment be. 



228 MARAH AND ELIM. 

And to-morrow, but to-morrow, He thy sins so often 

grieve. 
Trains thee for, and storeth for thee, jojs thy heart 

can scarce conceive. 

Coolest waters leaping, gushing 'neath the shade of 

many a palm ! 
Let no memory of murmurs mar for thee that 

blessed calm. 

So thy Marah shall be Elim, and thy Elim know 

no fears. 
For the fount of deepest gladness springeth near the 

place of tears. 



•' COME AND SEE.'^ 

'' Rabbi, ■where dwellest Thou ? — Come and see/' — John i. 35 to eiid. 

Master, where abidest Thou ? 

Lamb of God, 'tis Thee we seek ; 
Eor the wants which press us now 

Other aid is all too weak. 
Canst thou take our sins aw^aj ? 

May we find repose in Thee ? 
From the gracious lips to-day. 

As of old, breathes, '' Come and see." 

Master, where abidest Thou ? 

We would leave the past behind ; 

We would scale the mountain's brow, 

Learning more Thy heavenly mind. 
20 



280 " COME AND SEE." 

Still a look is all our lore. 

The transforming look to Thee : 

From the Living Truth once more 

Breathes the answer, '' Come and see." 



Master, where abidest Thou ? 

How shall we thine image best 
Bear in light upon our brow, 

Stamp in love upon our breast ? 
Still a look is all our might ; 

Looking draws the heart to Thee, 
Sends us from the absorbing sight 

With the message, " Come and see.'' 



Master, where abidest Thou ? 

All the springs of life are low ; 
Sin and grief our spirits bow, 

And we wait Thy call to go. 



'' COMB AND SEE." 231 

From the depths of happy rest, 
y/here the just abide with Thee ; 

From the Yoice which makes them bless'd 
Comes the summons, " Come and see." 



Christian, tell it to thy brother, 

From life's dawning to its end ; 
Every hand may clasp another, 

And the loneliest bring a friend ; 
Till the veil is drawn aside, 

And from where her home shall be 
Bursts upon the enfranchised Bride 

The triumphant " Come and see I" 



"MY STRENGTH AND MY HEAET 
FAILETH." 

In weakness at Thj feet I lie. 
Thine eje each pang hath seen, 

Scarce can I lift mj heart on high, 
Yet, Lord, on Thee I lean : 

Lean on Thy sure, unfailing word, 

Thy gentle "It is I;" 
For Thou, my ever-living Lord, 

Know'st what it is to die. 

Thou wilt be with me when I go,— 

Thy life my life in death ; 
For, in the lowest depths, I know 

Thine arms are underneath. 



" MY STRE?s^GTH AND MY HEAET EAILETH." 233 

'Tis not the infant's feeble grasp 
Which holds the mother fast ; 

It is the mother's gentle clasp 
Around her darling cast. 

Just so Thy child would cling to Thee, 

Knowing Thy pity long ; 
For feeble as my faith may be, 

The hand I clasp is strong. 
20* 



REST FOR THE HEAVY LADEN. 



' Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I -will givi 
you rest." — Matt. xi. 28. 



Silence in heaven and earth ! 

The hush of love or fear ! 
His voice the Highest sendeth forth ; 

The still small voice is here. 
The world's hoarse murmurs under, 

Its loudest din above, 
It speaketh not in thunder, 

But in words, and the tone is love. 
It calls, and a gift it offers ; 

To whom are those words address' d ? 
'' Come, ye that are heavy laden^ 

And I will give you rest. 

Ye that have toil'd in vain, 

Till strength and hope have fled, 



REST FOR THE HEAVY LADEN. 235 

And lavish' d the years that come not 
again, 

For that which is not bread ; 
Ye who are toiling now, 

Weary in heart and limb, 
With a strength each day more low, 

And a hope each day more dim ; 
Weary in soul and spirit, 

Toiling with hearts oppress' d, 
" Come to Me, all that labor, 

And I will give you rest." 

Is guilt unpardon'd there 

With heavy hand and strong, 
The weight in the air of measureless fear, 

Or of hope deferred long ? 
The sorrow which freezeth tears 

With the force of a sudden blow, 
The long, dull pressure of weary years. 

Bowing you silently low ? 



236 REST FOR THE HEAVY LADEN. 

Many the burdens and hard 
Wherewith the heart is press' d : 

" Come, all that are heavy laden, 
And I will give you rest/' 

The world has many a promise 

To beguile the blithe and young ; 
But to you the world is honest, — 

It has ceased to promise long. 
\Yealth, pleasures, fame, successes, 

The world has store of these ; — 
For you it no cure professes, 

It offers you no ease. 
But Christ has an arm almighty. 

And a balm for the faintest breast 
" Come, ye that are heavy laden, 

And I will give you rest.'' 

Would ye fain, among the sleepers, 
In dust your tired hearts bow ? 



REST FOR THE HEAVY LADEN. 237 

The rest He gives is deeper, 

And He will give it now. 
No dull, oblivious sleep 

In the lull of pain repress'd, 
But^all your hearts to steep 

In perfect and conscious rest, — 
Rest that shall make jou strong 

To serve among the bless'd. 
''Come, all that are heavy laden, 

And I will give you rest." 

The rest of a happy child, 

Led by the Father on, 
Feeling His smile, and reconciled 

To all that He has done ; 
Of one who can meekly bend 

'Neath the yoke of the Lord who died ; 
Of a soldier who knows how the fight will end 

With a Leader true and tried ; 



238 I^EST FOR THE HEAVY LADE:^\ 

The rest of a subject heart, 
Of its best desires possess' d. 

" Come, ye that are heavy laden, 
And I will give you rest." 

Eest from sin's crushing debt, 

In the blood which Christ has shed ; 
From the pang of vain regret, 

In the thought that He has led. 
Rest in His perfect love ; 

Rest in His tender care ; 
Rest in His presence for you above, 

In His presence with you here. 
Rest in Him slain and risen, 

The Lamb, and the Royal Priest. 
" Come, all that are heavy laden, 

And I will give you rest." 



" IT IS I ; BE NOT AFRAID." 

Matt. siv. 27. 

Toss'd with rough winds, and faint with fear, 
Above the tempest, soft and clear, 
What still small accents greet mine ear ? — 
. '' 'Tis I ; be not afraid. 

" 'Tis I, who washed thj spirit white ; 
'Tis I, who gave thj blind ejes sight; 
'Tis I, thy Lord, thj Life, thy Light : 
'Tis I ; be not afraid. 

"These raging winds, this surging sea. 
Bear not a breath of wrath to thee ; 
That storm has all been spent on Me : 
'Tis I ; be not afraid. 



240 '- IT IS I ; BE NOT AFRAID.'^ 

•' This bitter cup, I drank it first ; 
To thee, it is no draught accurst ; 
The hand that gives it thee is pierced : 
'Tis I ; be not afraid. 

' ' Mine eyes are watching by thj bed, 
Mine arms are underneath thy head, 
My blessing is around thee shed : 

'Tis I : be not afraid. 

" When on the other side, thy feet 
Shall rest 'mid thousand welcomes sweet, 
One well-known voice thy heart shall greet : 
'Tis I ; be not afraid." 

From out the dazzling majesty 
Gently He 'U lay His hand on thee, 
Sayuig, '' Beloved, lov'st thou Me ? 
'Twas not in vain I died for thee ; 

'Tis I ; be not afraid." 



GOD IS LOYE. 

PARAPHRASE ON PSALM SXXVI. 
(Ver. &-11.) 

Thy mercies link heaven with earth, 
Like the clouds, fall and gather again ; 

They fill all the heavens like light, 
They freshen all earth like the rain. 

Like the mountains Thy righteousness stands. 
From whose stern sides the living stream flows, 

Their calm brows look down on the storms, 
Aud the plains in their strong arms repose. 

Thy judgments are fathomless depths. 
Yet the deepest in blessings abound ; 

No chaos or darkness is there,— 

Love fills what no creature can sound. 

But what can compare with Thy love. 

So boundless, so costly, so free ? 

Thy truth and Thy justice are Thine*; 

Who speak of Thy love speak of Thee I 
21 



242 GOD IS LOVE. 

It broods like the mother-bird's wing ; 

It yearns to fold all to its breast ; 
And all who will listen and trust, 

And gather beneath it, are bless' d. 

For with Thee is the Fountain of Life, 
Thou wilt give us to drink of it soon, 

The cold waters fresh from the Rock, 
Ever fresh in the glow of Thy noon. 

And with Thee is the Eden of bliss, 
Its sunshine no Fall shall eclipse, 

Its rivers flow pure from Thy throne, 

And Thy hand lifts the draught to our lips. 

Thou wilt lead us within Thine abode. 
The feast which Thou spreadest to share ; 

We shall dwell in Thy house as a home, — 
The heart will be satisfied there. 

Ob, make our hearts pure to behold. 
And light in Thy light we shall see ; 

For to gaze and still gaze on Thy love, 
our God, is to gaze upon Thee ! 



" SUMMER IN THE SOUL." 

Autumn was on the earth. 
When Summer came to me, 

The "Summer in the soul," 
And set the life-springs free. 

Darkness was on mj life, 

A heavy weight of night, 
When the Sun arose within. 

And filled my heart with light. 

Ice lay upon my heart, 
Ice-fetters still and strong, 

When the living spring gushed forth ^ 
And filled my soul with song. 



244 "SUMMER IN THE SOUL." 

That Summer shall not fade, 
That Sun, it setteth never ; 

The fountain in my heart 

Springs full and fresh for ever. 

Since I have learned thy love, 
My Summer, Lord, Thou art ; 

Summer to me, and Day, 
And life-springs in my heart. 

Since I have learned Thou Art, 
Thou livest, and art Love, 

Art Love, and lovest me^ — 
Eearless I look above ! 

Thy blood blots out my sin. 
Thy love casts out my fear ; 

Heaven is no longer far, 

Since Thou, its Sun, art near. 



''SUMMER IN THE SOUL." 245 

Here Thou abid'st awhile 

Here in the night with me ; 
Soon thou wilt take me home-- 

Home to Thy light, with Thee. 

Where is no night, nor ejes 
Which weeping long for night ; 

Eyes whence Thou wip'st the tears, 
Can bear Thy cloudless light. 

Summer, life-fountains, Day, 

Within, around, above ! 
Where we shall see Thy face, 

Where we shall feel Thy love ! 
21* 



THE CROSS. 

Never further than Thy Cross ! 

Never higher than Thy feet ! 
Here earth's precious things seem dross, 

Here earth's bitter things grow fiweefc. 

Gazing thus, our sin we see, 

Learn Thy love while gazing thus ; 

Sin which laid the Cross on Thee, 
Love which bore the Cross for us. 

Here we learn to serve and give, 

And, rejoicing, self deny ; 
Here we ^u-tiier love to live. 

Here we gather strength to die. 



THE CROSS. 247 

Symbols of our liberty 

And our service here unite, 
Captives by Thy Cross set free, 

Soldiers of Thy Cross we fight. 

Pressing onwards as we can 

Still to this our hearts must tend ; 

Yv^here our earliest hopes began 
There our last aspirings end. 

Till amid the hosts of light, 

We in Thee redeemed, complete, 
Through Thy Cross made pure and white, 

Cast our crowns before Thy feet. 



THE CHILD ON THE JUDGMENT-SEAT. 

Where hast tliou been toiling all daj, sweet beart, 
That thy brow is burdened and sad? 

The Master's work may make weary feet, 
But it leaves the spirit glad. 

Was thy garden nipped with the midnight frosts, 
Or scorched with the mid-day glare ? 

Were thy vines laid low, or thy lilies crushed, 
That thy face is so full of care ? 

' ' No pleasant garden- toils were mine, 

I have sate on the judgment-seat, 
\7here the Master sits at eve, and calls 

The children around his feet." 



THE CHILD ON THE JUDGMENT- SEAT. 249 

How earnest tliou on the judgment-seat. 

Sweet heart, who set thee there ? 
'Tis a lonelj and loftj seat for thee, 

And well might fill thee with care. 

" 1 climbed on the judgment-seat mjself; 

I have sate there alone all day, 
For it grieved me to see the children around, 

Idling their life awaj. 

"Thej wasted the Master's precious seed, 

The J wasted the precious hours ; 
They trained not the vines, nor gathered the fruits. 

And thej trampled the sweet meek flowers." 

And what didst thou on the judgment-seat, 
Sweet heart, what didst thou there ? - 

Would the idlers heed thy childish voice ? 
Did the garden mend for thy care ! 



250 THE CHILD ON THE JUDGMENT-SEAT. 

'• Naj, that grieved me more : I called and I cried. 

But they left me there forlorn ; 
My voice was weak, and they heeded not, 

Or they laughed my words to scorn." 

Ah ! the judgment-seat was not for thee, 

The servants were not thine ; 
And the eyes which fix the praise and the blame, 

See farther than thine or mine. 

The voice that shall sound there at eve, sweet heart. 

Will not strive or cry to be heard ; 
It will hush the earth, and hush the hearts, 

And none will resist its word. 

'' Should I see the Master's treasures lost, 

The gifts that should feed his poor. 
And not lift my voice, (be it weak as it may) 

And not be grieved sore ?" 



THE CHILD ON THE JUGDMENT-SEAT. 251 

Wait till the evening falls, sweet heart, 

Wait till the evening falls ; 
The Master is near, and knoweth all — 

Wait till the Master calls. 

But how fared thy garden-plot, sweet heart, 
Whilst thou sat'st on the judgment-seat ? 

Who watered th j roses, and trained thy vines ? 
And kept them from careless feet ? 

" Nay, that is saddest of all to me. 

That is saddest of all ! 
My vines are trailing, my roses are parched, 

My lilies droop and fall." 

Go back to thy garden-plot, sweet heart ; 

Go back till the evening falls. 
And bind thy lilies, and train thy vines, 

Till for thee the Master calls. 



252 THE CHILD ON THE JUDGMENT-SEAT. 

Go ! make thj garden fair as thou canst, 

Thou workest never alone ; 
Perchance he whose plot is next to thine 

Will see it, and mend his own. 



And the next maj copy his, sweet heart, 
Till all grows fair and sweet ; 

And when the Master comes at eve, 
Happj faces his coming will greet. 

Then shall thj joj be full, sweet heart, 

In the garden so fair to see, 
In the Master's words of pi'uise to all, 

In a look of his own for thee ! 

August, 1865. 



TALITHA CUMI! 

' TuLiiha, in the dialect of the people, a term of endearment 
used towards a young maiden." — Dean Alford on " >S'^. Mark^s 
GospeV 

•' Talitha CumiP^ 

The mother spoke; 
And lightly from slumber 

The child awoke. 

*3v -7^ ^ ^ 

In sweet dreams folded 

At dawn of daj. 
As in dew a rosebud, 

The maiden lay. 

The fair lids rounded 

In calm repose ; 
Long lashes shading 
The cheek's soft rose. 

00 



254 TALITHA CUMI ! 

The lips half parted, 
As though she smiled, 

When with kisses the mother 
Awoke the child. 

'' Talitha cumi! 

Damsel, arise !" 
And slowly opened 

Those happy eyes. 

^ ^- -^ -^ 

In deep sleep buriel, 

At close of day, 
Silent and pallid 

The maiden lay. 

In the heart no beating, 
On the cheek no rose ; 

Placid but rigid 
The pale lips close. 



TALITHA CUMI ! 255 

No gentle heavings 

Of even breath. 
And the mother sobbeth — 

''Not sleep, but death !" 

No need for hushing 

Her anguish now • 
No Tvailings will trouble 

That placid brow. 

No wild lamentings 

The mourners make, 
No tumult of minstrels 

That sleep can break. 

Silence those death-wails 

Of wild despair ! 
" Not dead^ but sleepi?ig f' 

The Life is there ! 



256 TALITHA CUMI ! 

Gentle His accents, 
Mother, as thine- 

Yet Galilee's tempests 
Know thera Divine. 

Kingly, He chaseth 
The mocking band ; 

Softly He toucheth 
The clay-cold hand. 

' ' Talitha cumi ! 

Damsel, arise !" 
And slowly open 

Those death-sealed eyes. 

With a name of endearment, 
Tender and soft, 

(Her mother had waked her 
From sleep with it oft), 



TALITHA CUMi! 257 

He calls her spirit 

Beyond the tombs, 
" Tcditha cumi !''' 

She hears and comes. 

And the gates of Hades, 

The gates of brass, 
Which through the ages 

None living pass, 

Before those accents 

Quake as ^vitll thunder, 
Quiver like aspens. 

And part asunder ; 

Open like flowers 

Touched by the sun ; 
Yet through the wide portals 

Passeth but one. 

22* 



258 TALITHA CUMi! 

Fearless came through them 
The soul of the child, 

Saw Him who called her 
Knew Him, and smiled. 



" Talitha ciimil^^ 
The Saviour spoke ; 

And as from. light slumbers 
The dead awoke. 



Apeil, 1862. 



GETHSEMANE. 

"Now is my soul exceeding sorrowful, even unto death." 
" The Lamb of God, who taketh away the siu of the world.' 

Sm hardens^ all the heart, with ice encrusting, 
And narrowing its current evermore ; 

Therefore, Saviour^ loving, pitying, trusting. 
Thy heart no ice of sin e'er crusted o'er 

Was tenderer to feel each pang that tried thee 
Than any heart that ever broke or bled ; 

The coward love that followed yet denied thee, 
The selfish fear that kept far off or fled. 

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But sin must ever weaken while it hardens, — 
Enfeebling to endure, or act. or dare. 

Till nothing save the balm of heavenly pardons 
Can nerve the heart ao;ain to do or bear. 



260 GETHSEMANE. 

Then must thy heart be stronger far to suffer 
Than any sinful heart that ever beat ; 

And if thy path than any path be rougher, 

Yet hast thou tenfold strength its woes to meet. 

What tide of grief, then. Mightiest ! o'er thee 
rushes, 

Thus tasking e'en thy patience and thy trust ? 
What woe beyond all woe thy spirit crushes, 

Bowing thee, sinless, spotless, to the dust ! 

Martyrs for thee have gone to meet their anguish, 
Singing glad psalms e'en with their dying breath ; 

Not all their tortures causing once to languish 
The hope that led them forth for thee to death. 

Thy Stephen's face shone like a happy angel's. 
Uplifted midst the stones towards thy skies, 

Beaming from radiant brows thine own evangels, 
And glowing with the welcome in thine eyes. 



GETHSEMANB. 261 

Yet thou, Lord, liftest not thy face to heaven, 
But bowest prostrate on the dewy sod ; 

Thy soul exceeding sorrowful, with death-pangs 
riven. 
Thy sweat of anguish as great drops of blood. 

What storm is this in which thou all but sinkest. 
Whose arm has borne so many through the flood ? 

What bitter cup is this from which thou shrinkest, 
Strength of all martyrs, patient Lamb of Grod ? 

The sin of all the world, whose throne thou claimest, 
Hadst made so fair, so fallen, loved and sought ; 

The sin of all thine own, to whom thou earnest, 
Thou camest, and thine own received thee not ; 

The sin of all the saved, that dying blessed Thee, 
Who from the sting of death hadst set them free ; 

The sin of all thy martyrs, who confessed thee, 
And died rejoicing that they went to thee ; 



262 aBTHSEMANE. 

The sin of thine apostle, who denied thee, 
Cursing with perjured oaths as he denied ; 

The sin of those who torturing deride thee. 
And of thy Stephen, blessing as he died. 

This is the weight of agonj unspoken 

Which thee, Highest, thus so low hath laid ? 

The curse of all the law mankind had broken, 
The sin of all the world which thou hadst made. 

Earth's serried woe and crime in one compressing, 
Thou buriest all within thy single breast, 

And changest thus our every curse to blessing, 
Giving us life through death, in labour rest. 
May, 1862. 



THE TWO ACCUSATIONS. 

A CiiOSS stands black against the last pale glow 
Of that dread day that twice was veiled m 

night ; 
The form that quivered there when noon was 

high 
Kests low amidst the shrouds and spices now, 
And reverent hands have wiped that thorn- crovv^ned 

brow. 
But where it bowed at noon, death-dewed and 

white, 
The Roman's accusation meets my sight. 
Earth's homage rendered in her own despite, 
Proclaiming in three tongues thy right divine ! 



264 THE TWO ACCUSATIONS. 

Yet as I gaze my heart discovers there 

Another accusation black and clear ; 

These were the crimes that slew Thee! — They 

are inine ! 
But it is torn, and blotted with thj blood ; 
No more a sentence, but a pardon sealed by God. 

July, 1862. 



now DOTH DEATH SPEAK OF OUR 
BELOVED? 

" The rain that falls upon the height, 
Too gently to be called delight, 
In the dark valley reappears 
As a wild cataract of tears ; 
And love in life shall strive to see 
Sometimes, what love in death would be." 
Coventry Patmore's " Angel in the House,'" 

How doth death speak of our beloved, 

When it has laid them low ; 
When it has set its hallowing touch 

On speechless lip and brow ? 



It clothes their every gift and grace 

With radiance from the holiest place. 

With light as from an angel's face ; 
23 



266 HOW DOTH DEATH SPEAK OF OUR BELOVED ? 

Recalling with resistless force, 
And tracing to their hidden source, 
Deeds scarcely noticed in their course,— 

This little, loving, fond device, 

That daily act of sacrifice. 

Of which too late we learn the price ; 

Opening our weeping eyes to trace 
Simple unnoticed kindnesses, 
Forgotten tones of tenderness, 

Which evermore to us must be 
Sacred as hymns in infancy. 
Learned listening at a mother's knee. 

Thus doth death speak of our beloved, 

When it has laid them low ; 
Then let love antedate the work of death, 

And do this now. 



HOW DOTH DEATH SPEAK OF OUR BELOVED ? 267 

How doth death speak of our beloved, 

When it has laid them low ; 
When it has set its hallowing touch 

On speechless lip and brow ? 

It sweeps their :Kmlts with heavy hand, 
As sweeps the sea the trampled sand, 
Till scarce the faintest print is scanned. 

It shows how such a vexing deed 
Was but a generous nature's weed. 
Or some choice virtue run to seed ; 

How that small fretting fretfulness 
Was but love's over-anxiousness, 
Which had not been had love been less ; 

This failing at which we repined, 
But the dim shade of day declined. 
Which should have made us doubly kind. 



268 HOW DOTH DEATH SPEAK OF OUR BELOVED? 

Thus doth death speak of our beloved, 

When it has laid them low ; 
Then let love antedate the work of death. 

And do this now. 



How doth death speak of our beloved, 

When it has laid them low ; 
When it has set its hallowing touch 

On speechless lip and brow ? 

It takes each failing on our part, 
And brands it in upon the heart, 
With caustic power and cruel art. 

The small neglect that may have pained, 
A giant stature will have gained, 
When it can never be explained ; 



HOW DOTH DEATH SPEAK OF OUR BELOVED ? 269 

The little service which had proved 
How tenderly we watched and loved, 
And those mute lips to glad smiles moved • 

The little gift from out our store, 
Which might have cheered some cheerless hour, 
When thej with earth's poor needs were poor, 
But never will be needed more ! 



It shows our faults like fires at night, 
It sweeps their failings out of sight ; 
It clothes their good in heavenly light. 

Christ, our life, foredate the work of death, 

And do this now ; 
Thou, who art love, thus hallow our beloved ! — 

Not death, but Thou ! 

June, 1862. 

23* 



IN MEMORY OF THE KEY. J. D. BURNS. 

Why do we moan, and wonderingly complain, 
And murmur, " mysterious ways of God !" 

When the fine gold whence beams His image plain 
Is stored within His innermost abode ? 

It wej^e mysterious if the Master's hand 

Lavished its skill some choice work to prepare, 

And then, unfinished, cast it on the strand 
To perish incomplete and broken there. 

But when tbe last completing touch is given, 
The master-touch that all the rest inspires, 

And the rich colours and the gold of heaven, — 
Enamelled in the last of many fires, — 



IN MEMORY OF THE REV. J. D. BURNS. 271 

Shine forth at length to full perfection wrought, 
A vessel meet the Master's House to grace, 

A picture breathing with the Master's thought, 
A portrait beaming back the Master's Face ; — 

What wonder if His treasure thence He take. 

Where earthly clamps the burnished gold might 
dim, 
Where careless hands the gracious form might break 

— Take to the Father's House, within, with Him ? 

What wonder when the training of the schools 
Has done such work as schools and lessons can ; 

When through the discipline of tasks and rules 
The boy compacts, expands into the man, — 

If to the Field the Father bids him come, 

Where manhood's earnest standards are unfurled? 

Is not the school an exile from the home ? 
Is not the school the threshold of a world? 



272 IN MEMORY OF THE REV. J. D. BURNS. 

Who wonders, when the finished gem is borne 
Its light upon the sovereign's brow to yield ! 

Who would not wonder if the ripened corn 
Were left to perish on the harvest-field? 

Yet we who wander o'er the leafless land, 
Where golden seas waved musical and fair • 

On us falls heavily, as thus we stand, 
The blank and silence of the falling year. 

Still at the school, we miss the brother's eye, 
Whose working near us made us work our best, 

Whose generous smile still drew our aims on high. 
Whose ripe achievement shamed self-sootLing rest. 

We mourn, '' God ! we needed him so much ! 

Here are so many tangling coils to loose. 
So many hearts that need the tenderest touch, 

So few hands trained like his to finest use ! 



IN MEMORY OF THE KEY. J. D. BURNS. 273 

" And hast Thou thus through blows and fires," 

we sigh J 
" And subtlest touches shaped this instrument 
For choicest work, only to rest on high?" 
But swift the answer smites our discontent. 

"This earth is but for learning and for training. 
Earth's highest work but such as children do, 

The workmen here their priceless skill are gaining, 
The true life-work is yonder, out of view." 

Lord, we would bow, while faith our grief controls, 
And thank Thee for the liberating blow. 

Which breaks these chains wherewith we cramp 
our souls 
To little rounded dreams of life below ; — 

Which shows this life doth but our life begin, 
Is but outside^ the porch of the Abode, 

And death the going home, the entering in. 
The stepping forth on the wide world of God. 



IT IS NO DREAM. 



- ON THE DEATH OF THEIR ONLY BOY. 



Was it a dream? such gladness with it bringing, 
That life whose dawn with such deep joy we 
hailed, — 
Those loving babj arms so fondly clinging, — 
Those eyes whose smiles so soon in death were 
veiled ? 

A-las ! no dream had left such life-long traces, 
Such silence as that little voice has left, — 

The blank no other presence e'er replaces ; 
It is no dream which leaves us thus bereft. 

It is no dream ! Thy spirit dieth never ! 

That little star through endless time shall beam : 
Heaven shall be brighter for thy light for ever, 

And glad(]er for thy voice. It is no dream ! 



IT IS NO DREAM. 275 

It is no dream ! By God that gift was given ; 

Man may repent his gifts ; God deals not thus. 
A. new immortal joy is onrs in heaven, 

And He who gave will give thee back to us. 

It is no dream, that Paradise immortal, 

Where He who blessed the babes has welcomed 
thee, 

Fearless the infants pass its solemn portal, 
Borne in His arms. His face alone they see. 

Yet, Father ! who, for us, m love most tender, 
Didst yield to death Thy Son, Thine only Son, 

Thou knowest all the cost of such surrender, 
Help us to say with Him, Thy will be done ; 

Till looking back, with this our child beside us, 
On all the way through which our feet were 
brought ; 

We sing, " It was no dream by which God tried us, 
No dream the weight of glory it has wrought 1" 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




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